The Black Crown
by Kaye Thorn
Summary: The darkness of the East continues to grow in strength, casting its might against the West. One of the ancient Gondor houses struggles against the shadow, slowly doomed by an ageless curse of the Black Crown. Lots of canon & new material.
1. Prodigal

_"The glories of our blood and state_

_Are shadows, not substantial things;_

_There is no armour against Fate;_

_Death lays his icy hand on kings:_

_Sceptre and Crown_

_Must tumble down,_

_And in the dust be equal made_

_With the poor crookèd scythe and spade. "_

_-James Shirley_

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

Horns echoed upon the sultry morning air, mingling with the clamor of hearty shouts and stampeding hooves. Waves of silver, black, and green flooded across the river shallows, steel and banners blazing in the early sun. They trampled across the abandoned enemy barricades, chasing the remaining combatants from the shore. When their western forces had crossed, drums billowed from the nearby hills. Countless figures swarmed over the horizon ahead.

The escorts at the front of the Gondorian and Rohirrim forces halted, redirecting their men. Torrents of arrows rained upon the encroaching Haradrim, before the troops surged against the invaders. The Rohirrim cavalry crashed into the towering Oliphaunts, deploying ropes and arrows to bring down the animals. As the caravans finally dwindled, the western infantry went forth.

The Haradrim broke through the front lines, cutting down everything in their path. The Gondorian and Rohirrim forces split, exposing their core. The enemy surrounded two leaders of the Rohirrim army. The officers fought alongside their men in the thick of battle. One fell from his white steed, a spear lodged in his chest.

"Brother!"

The second officer was thrown from his horse, the animal's legs destroyed by hacking steel. A Haradrim champion struck at him, then toppled harmlessly to the ground. Another soldier helped the surviving prince to his feet and returned his weapon.

"My lord, we must break through. Your vanguard is nearly obliterated."

"I agree, Captain."

Their comrades went ahead, seeking to clear a path, but fell one by one. Haradrim encircled them and raised their bows, showering them with arrows. The Captain seized his shield and knocked his commander to the ground, seconds too late. An arrow pierced the prince's neck, killing him instantly. The Captain huddled under his shield, desperately checking for a pulse. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the hilt of his sword. He whispered offerings to the Valar, preparing himself to die.

He cast the shield aside and vaulted into the enemy horde, slashing at random vulnerable flesh. Every moment passed in agony, his body screaming with anger and loss. The enemy swords grew tighter around him, circling to kill.

Suddenly half of the surrounding enemy fell dead, the unit of his most loyal men swooping upon them. They roared together against the Haradrim, advancing the center of Rohan's forces to those of Gondor. Reunited, they obliterated the rest of the invaders, driving the remains from the Crossings. The Captain and his men returned to the site of the fallen princes, bearing their bodies onto horses.

The Gondorians and Rohirrim gathered at the western end of the ford, surrounding protectively around the victorious Steward Túrin and his son Turgon. The Rohirrim Captain and his men dutifully marched towards the gathering, leading the horses one by one. The dead princes were balanced delicately upon the saddles, covered with banners in reverence.

At the border of the encampment, they were accosted by soldiers of Gondor. Without explanation, their unit's weapons were confiscated. They were led to the center of camp, where the tents of the military leaders stood. Several dozen armed Gondorians called their commanders and enclosed the Rohirrim unit, watching them suspiciously

Captain Turgon arrived immediately and entered the ring of men. He circled the arrivals inquisitively, urging the Rohirrim Captain forward.

"These are the bodies of Prince Folcred and Fastred of Rohan. Why do you bear them?"

"Our lords died surrounded by Haradrim in the midst of battle. We request leave to build a barrow at the foot of the river crossing for them."

"Liars! You defile these honorable men by covering them with banners of the Harad. I'll bet you slaughtered them yourselves. Remove your helmets, all of you!"

Turgon ripped the grey banners with black stars from the horses, stomping them into the ground with his boots. The unit soldiers slid off their gear, revealing blond hair on all except the leader.

The dark haired Captain gazed at Turgon, grimacing. "My lord, there is no reason to insult my house or my men with this nonsense."

"You are clearly not Rohirrim, yet you call yourself an officer among them. These are the markings of the royal house of the Harad."

The man grit his teeth and picked up the banner gently, brushing the dirt off. "Their banners carry four pointed stars in black, not eight. It was taken in mockery of my house."

The Gondorian stared at him and raised his hand in dismissal. "A likely story—"

"Stand down Captain Turgon, before you make a bigger fool of yourself," interrupted a deep voice.

Startled, he bowed and retreated into the men surrounding the Rohirrim unit. They stepped respectfully aside for the Steward of Gondor, his stern form towering over them. Rich fabric and heavy mail draped over his aging frame, and the White Tree stood upon the center of his chest. Lord Túrin picked up the second damaged banner, examining it closely.

He surveyed the foreign Captain with his piercing stare. "You are Dúnedain, no doubt. I see it in your face. Who are you?"

The man bowed in acquiescence. "Elored, of the house Indûrion."

"You claim descent from a house exiled before the end of the Kings? None are left in Gondor with that name."

"I do not deceive you Lord Steward."

"Who bore you?"

"Nóruiel of Haranór in East Anórien," he said slowly.

"Then you belong to Gondor. Why do you serve King Folcwine of Rohan?" asked Túrin scathingly.

"My father sent me there for foster after the White Tree died."

The Steward handed the banner back, his brow furrowing. "You are no longer in his service. You will enter into my guard, submitting to my rule. The blood of Númenor will remain in Gondor."

"Lord—"

Túrin turned, motioning to his men. "Bury the Princes of Rohan with honor."

Elored narrowed his eyes and whipped towards his men, fury raging in his heart. They worked upon a barrow without sleeping, and carried the princes there at dawn. The Rohirrim forces lined along the river edge, and hailed the procession with solemn voices. Sweat and tears rolled down their faces, all fixated on the two biers. Captain Elored stood silently, the death hymns echoing distantly in his ears. There was a heavy sigh next to him as a shorter man with red hair stepped close.

Elored bowed in acknowledgment and murmured, "Marshal Déor."

When the last stone was placed on the barrow, the leaders turned to each other. "I am ashamed I couldn't protect them. My failure hastened their deaths."

"Lord Marshal, the forces were halved in two. I nearly joined them in death," said Elored.

Déor studied the barrow, his hair falling protectively across his face. "It is better to be dead beside my kin. This is an unpayable debt to their father." He continued, "I am now in command of our deployed force. Steward Túrin questioned me, and discovered my kinship to his son's wife. He used the connection to compel our troops to stay here. He declared it is our _duty_."

"Isn't there some other way—"

Déor shook his head, tightening his grip on the sword sheathed upon his side. "You and I…our roots run in deep in soil far away. Nonetheless, the dignity and power of the Dúnedain is not to be violated. King Folcwine will bow to the demand, for a time."

"Ridiculous," murmured Elored.

"Even one year is too long. Many of our men may choose to settle here. Perhaps the population of Gondor will slowly swell with more soldiers," replied Deor.

"My father once said we are all one people, strayed in our paths from another," said Elored. "This Steward does not ally men together. He twists their hopes to stay his fear and manipulates them to increase control. This is not the kind of man I wish to serve."

The main gathering departed around them, leaving the site in stillness. He gazed at the rising sun, burned brightly over the top of the freshly turned soil. Abruptly loud shouts rent the air, and three fellow soldiers appeared behind them.

The Marshal seized one by the arm, clenching tightly. "Why do you disturb the peace of our Princes?"

"We bear them a gift my lord," stuttered the man. His comrade stepped forward, unwrapping cloth from a large object. "The head of the Harad leader who assaulted them!"

The grisly war painted face of the enemy was planted atop a wooden stake, his features caked in blood. Both Rohirrim leaders froze, their mouths opening blankly.

"You call yourselves Men of Rohan? Bury that man immediately!" commanded Déor.

"Sir?"

"There is no honor in this desecration," said Elored quietly. "We will not walk in the darkness with the enemy."

They urged the other soldiers away, and stood closer together. "We may have stopped this army's invasion, but the Shadow has already fallen on the West."

"We must journey into this night with swords drawn," said Captain Elored. "All those follow after us will be swallowed up."

_Battle of the Crossings of Poros, Gondor. Third Age, in the year 2885._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One: Prodigal<strong>

_"Every parent is at some time the father of the unreturned prodigal,_  
><em>with nothing to do but keep his house open to hope."<em>  
><em>-John Ciardi<em>

**Arcúnalin, Anórien, Gondor.**

**27th of Nénimë 3003, Third Age.**

_Fear._

Piercing wails and frenzied steps.

The noises broke the solid stillness enshrining her body. A firm hand yanked her upward and attempted to shield her face. She struggled and kicked her tiny feet hard, loosening her mother's grip. Her head lolled sideways, allowing her to see the trampled man on the ground. Blood pooled beneath his mangled body, and his familiar eyes were devoid of emotion.

Her three years of life were too few to know his true name, but she had called him "mellon". This man was a bringer of toys, playmates, and bright smiles. He did not smile now, he could not smile again. She fought her mother's restraining hands and tried to scream, her voice strangled by tears.

The distress of those minutes clung to the farthest reaches of her memory. They engulfed every dream of this place, not allowing her to forget. Memories of her happier youth in distant hills were fading into colorless dreams of better days. She had felt the burdened shroud of this land descend upon her when she'd returned. Her ancestors watched expectantly in every corner of Haemuin, in graves and immortalizing portraits.

She cursed extensively at the hefty yoke they'd thrust onto her, dragging her out of the only home she wanted, or knew. Her muffled voice broke the silence, returning her from tangled and disturbing thoughts. Her dim hiding spot suddenly flooded with light. The table cloth pulled upward from view, replaced by a boy's face.

"Hallas, I found Aira!" he shouted.

The volume of his voice penetrated deep, rattling her eardrums. She jumped in reaction, hitting her head against the table's underside. The wooden scrollwork dug into her scalp, the pain making her eyes water. Struggling for balance, she dropped forward onto her palms and growled at the boy. He jumped backward, nearly slipping on the shining floor tiles.

The main door of the dining hall swung open, stirring the tapestries on nearby walls. A well-built young man with chestnut hair and grey eyes appeared, dressed in training gear. He visually swept the room and strode towards the noisy children. He grasped the shoulder of Aira's riding coat, forcing her to stand before she could gain her feet.

"You are too old for hiding under tables, sister. I hoped womanhood would stop these foolish games."

"I'm only thirteen," Aira grumbled.

The boy smiled nervously, dashing away before Hallas could release her.

"I'll get you Amlaith," she shouted after him.

"You should already be headed for Minas Tirith," said Hallas. "By the looks of it, you're hiding from father, not Amlaith."

The girl frowned, stepping away. "Of course I don't want to go to Minas Tirith. I want to return to Núnhel!"

"Father forbids it."

"He is _not _my father," she said, stamping her foot. "I want Selethryth and Caranthir back."

"Hush," said Hallas sharply. "They are _not _your parents. They've spoiled you, and father is disgusted."

"You have no right. Everyone abandoned me in Núnhel, even you and Imlach. They're the only ones who ever cared about me."

"Not true," he said. "Do not start crying, or you'll look frightful."

She offered no response, allowing her brother to smooth her hair. Hallas retained his grip on her clothing, guiding her through the house to the front gate. Even when events didn't concern him, her brother would always enforce their father's will. The boy she knew in Núnhel was gone and unrecognizable in manhood. A group of horses filled the entryway to their estate, each mount packed and mounted. One of the riders stared down at them, his gaze piercing.

"Does either of you care to explain this delay to the Steward of Gondor tomorrow?" he asked sternly. "I will gladly drag you before him."

"No sir," the pair mumbled in unison.

Aira cringed at the man's expression, keeping her face fixed on his knee. When he finished reprimanding them, she abashedly climbed onto her horse. Following the grey banner with black stars, she continued the onslaught of earlier cursing against her ancestors. She'd had no intention of coming back here, or visiting Minas Tirith. Her individuality and personal desires meant nothing in these parts of Gondor. Here she was chattel, the property of her lord father.

Their group traveled at quick pace to the central road of Arcúnalin, leaving Haemuin behind. In spite of the growing distance between her and the town, she remained dispirited during the journey. The silence between father and daughter grew steeper, Aira not daring to open her mouth. Her father seemed fully occupied, preferring to spend time with others in their company. She stuffed herself into her cloak against the chilly air, allowing her horse free range after the others.

Early the next morning, endless stretches of land gave way into a new landscape. Minas Tirith appeared across the Pelennor Fields, radiant in white despite the overcast weather. Her gaze never left the utmost pinnacle of the city, where the royal court stood on a shoulder of stone. Aira's apprehension melted into awe, increasing her confidence regarding the journey. Her foster family rarely left the confines of Núnhel, or traveled past the northern half of the White Mountains.

Their party stopped their ascent at the city's fifth level, near its fortified gate. A branch of the road led along the border of the defensive outer wall, under high white arches to the lane's end. The windows of a stately house rose above them, shadowing the narrow courtyard in its clutches. Unlike her family's green sprawling estate, this building soared into the sky in a column. A small ensemble of people exited the dwelling, surrounding the arrivals while they dismounted. Aira lingered next to the horse, watching her father embrace a man similar in appearance.

"You must be Aira."

She started in surprise, discovering an elegantly dressed woman at her side. Long tapers of blue fabric cloaked her elegant figure, radiating welcoming warmth. Taking in the woman's coal black hair and shapely features, she bowed.

"Yes milady."

"No need for trifles," the woman said. "I am your Aunt Emmelin."

Surrendering at recognition of the name, she allowed her aunt to grasp her hand. They approached Aira's father and the other stranger. Emmelin squeezed the man affectionately, entwining their arms together.

"Istoan, you haven't said hello."

Aira was struck by the man's countenance, clearly marking him as family. His cheeks and nose were thin, making him appear more fragile than her broadly framed father. She balked at the prospect of dealing with her uncle; her father was more than enough.

Istoan smiled at her kindly, but did not alleviate her suspicion. "Another child of the Indûrion. You are always welcome in my house, niece."

"Brother. Our delays have cost us too much time, but fetch us fresh clothes. I do not wish to present myself in such a state," said Iradan. He paused for moment, gesturing to his daughter. "My daughter sullied her clothing on the road; she is in a sorry state."

Aira held back a smile, patting her soiled cloak proudly. Countless stains were embedded in her clothes after skillfully dirty horseback riding, and her extra dresses were conveniently abandoned to a poor farm family.

Emmelin examined the girl's clothing, and shook her head. "My eldest girl Aethel's dresses should fit you, though you almost surpass her in height."

All hope of avoiding the social gathering vanished, replaced by frustration and concern. Hiding her frown, Aira struggled to give a false smile of appreciation.

"Iradan, she has blossomed like a tree in the sunshine of Anórien," said Istoan.

"At a price," said Iradan, almost inaudible.

Their party departed the house at noon to the upper portion of Minas Tirith. They passed through an enormous guarded gate into the Citadel. The grey daylight flattened the brightness of the Tower of Ecthelion, but its size caused Aira to visibly gape. Her pace slowed, the somber corpse of the White Tree catching her attention. Her feet stopped at the rim of the fountain centered in the courtyard, her face pale. Noticing her wandering, Iradan stood beside his daughter. Aira's mouth closed in a tight line, her grey eyes watery and hard.

"The Caeadan never brought you to Minas Tirith?" he asked, voice low.

"No, sir. Caranthir believes in avoiding city folk."

"Fool turned my daughter into a peasant farmer," grunted Iradan.

Aira glanced at him, trying to restrain her irritation. "Why have we come here?"

"The Council has called a social meeting. Most of the members are bringing their families. I am exposing you to high society. Once you are of marriageable age, it will be easier for you to join the house of a notable family. The days of the Dúnedain are numbered. I am protecting you.""

She winced, lowering her sight from the White Tree. It was worse than she thought. No wonder he was so smug on the way to Minas Tirith, despite her best attempts to avoid the event. He was determined to get his way, ego and all. Not if she could help it.

Narrowing her eyes, she filled her voice with false sincerity. "Our house is among the last Númenórean lines, what more is there?"

Iradan raised an eyebrow, his features tightening into a grimace. "Curb your cheek, and humble yourself before the Steward Denethor. The Arandur demand obedience and respect," he said sharply.

He urged his daughter to the group waiting in the distance. They entered the massive shadow of the nearest building, passing into the great hall. Murky light streamed through deep aisles of windows, illuminating the black pillars on either side. Long forgotten images of the Kings stared at her in the alcoves, adding to the solemnity. The cold faces imitated the portraits of her ancestors, making her skin crawl.

Iradan fell silent upon reaching the far end of the chamber, where the daises of two chairs were elevated at separate heights. A greying man occupied the lower seat, his ivory skin contrasting against the black stone. He spoke easily to the people gathered in a line. Individuals took turns presenting themselves, each bowing and keeping their voices low.

Iradan stepped forward first, partially blocking the view of Aira behind him. She fixed her eyes waist-level, wanting to disappear as dozens of people noticed her. Iradan towered over the other man, his lengthy frame fixed in a confident pose. Despite his seniority in age, her father appeared two decades younger than Denethor, fewer flecks of grey staining his dark hair.

"Lord Steward, I am honored before your presence."

"Strange, you appear for invitations by the Council, but not my summons," retorted Denethor.

A glint formed in Iradan's eyes as he replied. "I have not set foot here in years, though my kin live within these walls. Grave matters keep me away, I mean no offense."

"You will be expected to return," said the Steward. "At _my _command."

He paused, shifting his attention beyond the nobleman. Denethor extended a finger in Aira's direction, causing her to edge forward. She remained bowed slightly downward, the edges of her face obscured by its frame of chestnut hair.

"Rise child, name yourself."

She stood beside her father and squared herself before the chair. "My name is Aira, named Irien in the House of Indûrion."

She concentrated on the Steward's big nose, avoiding his grey irises. This man was far colder and manipulative than her father. He was not to be trusted.

"None were aware of your third born, Lord Iradan," said Denethor. "Is she of legitimate birth?"

"Yes. She and my older sons were sent for foster with the Caeadan in Núnhel. Someone attempted to harm them early in life."

"They were raised in an untitled household? Dire measures indeed."

"I assure you all of my children are prepared for their stations," retorted Iradan.

Denethor fixed his gaze on the girl. "I expect nothing less in your offspring. They will need to produce strong sons for Gondor. I suggest securing proper spouses for your children, lest they go astray."

"I would delight in such luxury, but our laws state individuals must agree mutually to marriage," said Iradan.

"Your province is overreaching in many traditions," said the Steward. "I hope it does not promote your misfortune."

Their conversation disintegrated, allowing the Indûrion family to move away. The highest ranking nobleman departed the social gathering into a separate chamber, leaving Aira with her Aunt Emmelin. They followed the remaining group beyond the hall's confines, where the garden began. Parades of colored fabric obscured the burgeoning plants lining the walkways, innumerable people occupying the courtyard. The shade of the overhanging stone enclosed around Aira, her blood chilling. Noise numbed her hearing, and a laugh pierced into her heart. Emmelin halted on a walkway, finding her niece several paces behind.

"Aira?"

She remained in place, transfixed before the mass of people. Beckoning her forth, Emmelin dutifully adjusted Aira's dress sleeves and leaned over her.

"It's alright. We will blend in," whispered Emmelin. She observed Aira's right hand clenched near her left hip. "What ails you?"

Beaded pupils unlocked, swiveling upward. "Father forbade me to carry a weapon. He had the maid seize it while I changed clothes earlier."

"Why would you desire one?" asked Emmelin.

"The first time our family decided not to bear arms at a last public gathering…my guardian Lord Kiril was killed. His body served as my shield."

Emmelin stared at her. "You remember the ransack of Herindol?"

"Yes."

"Valar, your father is inconsiderate. I promise no harm will come to you here. My family will always protect you."

She slid something metal and smooth into the girl's palm, urging her forward. Imagining the weight and texture of a hilt, Aira fell into stride alongside her aunt. They walked to the fringes of the garden, where the sun shone brightest. The minutes were agonizingly slow during their quiet stroll. They avoided the notice of others, until the crowd flowed in their direction.

The noblemen rejoined the gathering, causing Aira to move about frequently, hoping Iradan wouldn't spot them. Emmelin introduced her to old acquaintances, but they ignored her. During an aimless conversation with Lord Duinhir, a familiar face appeared nearby. Surprising Emmelin, she excused herself and strode away in determination. She touched the shoulder of a middle-aged man, catching him off guard.

"Uncle Marhad!" she said enthusiastically.

"Little Aira," he said, turning to greet her. He smiled with genuine sincerity, but abstained from his usual hug.

His blonde companion lunged at Aira with enthusiasm, clasping her tight. "I am happy to see you."

"You too, Ilfrith."

Emmelin encroached on the trio, murmuring greetings. "Master Caeadan, did others come with you?"

"I'm afraid not, with Súlimë nearly upon us. Unbelievable Lord Iradan had time to attend this event with Aira. She left my sister under a month ago," said Marhad. He glanced at his daughter, sharing look. "You have not seen her in two seasons. Roam about and speak of baubles or jewels."

Ilfrith rolled her eyes, but willingly pulled the girl along. "Escape with me, before he suggests men we should court."

The girls stifled their laughter, ducking around statues and clusters of people. They stole the last of the served desserts, and wandered the gardens together. The barren coldness of the event was quickly forgotten in her foster cousin's presence. Occasionally they followed Marhad, eavesdropping on random conversations. Ilfrith retreated when a heavyset man approached her father, steering Aira to safety.

"That is Lord Halnar of Calceryn. He began to manipulate our traders once grandfather died. Father tries to stop it, but it became harder once he joined the Council. I spotted Panthael of Lamedon too; he is a womanizing boor. Is there anyone you dislike amongst the prime of Gondor?" she asked.

"You mean besides my father?" asked Aira, furtively gazing at Lord Halnar. "I did not like the house of Morthond Vale. They seem cruel."

"Their daughter Dorwen is a toad," said Ilfrith.

"I shouldn't say it," said Aira in a low voice. "But…I dislike the Steward."

Ilfrith smirked, patting the girl's shoulder. "I do not blame you. There are more like him here."

"His son Boromir became the Captain-General last year. His unit pillaged Selethryth's livestock this winter without payment or apology. He is a pig head."

"Aira," hissed Ilfrith.

A broadly framed figure stepped across their path, its shadow falling on them. "Rarely have I heard compliments of my boar-like features."

The girls froze mid-stride, their faces raised upward in panic. Commanding a powerful bearing and strength, a dark haired man blocked their way. Recognizing proud features similar to the Steward, Aira's heart wilted under the Captain-General's gaze.

"My lord, she is a child. She meant no offense," said Ilfrith, lowering her flushed face.

He nodded, the light of his eyes irksome. "I am not so small, my lord." said Aira, "And I will not apologize for my opinion."

"I value candor. One in my station finds little of it," said Boromir. "Though such harshness is troubling in a child."

Ilfrith raised an eyebrow. "She is nigh fourteen, but has much to learn."

Boromir grunted, stepping back to allow them passage. Several bystanders watched them curiously. "Who are you girl?"

"Aira Indûrion. My father is Iradan of Arcúnalin."

"Ah, I know him," he said, face darkening. "Enjoy the gathering."

He walked off quickly without another word, abandoning the girls. Before Ilfrith could say anything else, a hand seized Aira's arm, Iradan's angry glare above her.

_Oh no._

_-.-.-._

The pendant's curves glistened against the rose sky, its silver sails reflecting the color. Aira ran her fingers along the swan shaped prow, wishing for such a ship. It would be light as a bird on water , capable of taking her far away. Salt stung her eyes; a troubling reminder of the recent journey and her subsequent punishment.

"What are you doing up there?"

Jumping in surprise, Aira found a girl standing below and relaxed considerably in recognition. Inquisitive eyes examined her from beneath strands of awkwardly braided dark hair. The girl's leather jerkin was stained with years of use, but her roughly made clothes were meticulously tidy. Calloused hands gripped the tree's lowest branch, easily swinging the girl towards Aira.

"I'm hiding, Melle."

"I heard things about your trip," said Melle. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The girl settled onto an opposite branch, examining Aira more closely.

"Nothing really happened. Iradan didn't think so; he erupted at everyone after the gathering in Minas Tirith."

"Yelling isn't so bad."

"It gets worse," she said softly. "I am barred from Núnhel and forced into etiquette lessons."

"With who?" chortled Melle.

Aira glared at her, and gripped the necklace pendant tightly. "Gweneth, Kiril's daughter. Iradan believes the Caeadan corrupted me," said Aira.

"Maybe he's right," said Melle. "You are planning to spend the night in a tree!"

"What would you know about conduct?" snapped Aira.

Melle flicked a twig at her. "Nothing. I am not a lady. I am a bastard. I have nothing, except my life. I am surrendering it to the Guard of Arcúnalin, because I cannot accomplish anything else."

Aira gaped at her friend, forgetting her meditations immediately. "I shouldn't have said that. You actually made the Guard?"

"Vîramar confirmed it."

"The Captain of the Haemuin Rangers told you himself?" asked Aira.

"I am surprised you know his name," replied Melle, studying her warily.

"He is the greatest archer in Anórien," said Aira. "How did you manage it?"

Melle paused, holding her breath and watching her closely. Their eyes met, realization dawning on her. "You want to join the Guard? Did you fall out of the tree earlier? It's impossible."

"Countless other women have done it," said Aira. She exhaled loudly, studying her friend. "Your strength is greater than others believe, and you will be successful."

"Your obstacles are bigger," said Melle. "Lord Iradan, the almighty leader of our province, likely will block you from the military. Even if he allowed it, you would subject to his direct command, and that of your brothers."

"I can handle it."

They passed a look in wordless acknowledgment. Melle lowered her head, messy hair falling over her forehead.

"It's self-torture, but alright," she sighed. "I will introduce you to Vîramar; you need his support—and training, lots of it."

"I'm perfectly capable." Aira sprang onto the ground below, landing on both feet. "See?"

"Sure. We'll continue pretending you never accidentally shot any of Selethryth's poultry."

Playfully Aira yanked on the other girl's boot, pulling her from the tree.

"Mature," said Melle. She brushed the dirt from her garments and punched her in retaliation.

Rubbing her shoulder and wincing, Aira said, "I deserve that."

"And a little extra," said Melle.

Aira tidied her tunic and fastened the ship pendant around her neck. It glinted dully in the rays of sunset, the silver reflecting an array of color. Curiously Melle bent closer, brushing it with a finger.

"Where did you get this?"

"My aunt. She said they sail these ships where she was born. They look like swans floating on the sea."

"That's strange."

Protectively she placed it beneath her tunic. They left the shade of the tree, and ignored the nearby road.  
>They strode into a meadow instead, navigating through the new spring growth. The stillness of the evening air froze the world around them, letting them pass like ghosts through the grass.<p>

"Melle, do you remember when we promised to join the Guard together?"

The girls turned from the tree, cutting into an adjacent farm field.

"Yes, and we both should keep our promise. I am afraid we can't defeat your parents."

"I don't want to defeat them," said Aira, grunting. "They built this wall around me. I am trying to break it down. I know they put it there to protect me, but I don't need to be locked away. They ripped everything away from me."

"I miss Caras Gwedeir, but Haemuin is more beautiful," said Melle softly. "Your mother Elrîn was kind in persuading Vîramar to accept me."

"What?"

"Your mother set-up my training with him, so I could support myself. She said it gave me a better chance at doing something honorable.'"

Aira stared at her friend in disbelief. "I didn't know that. I blamed her for separating us last year."

They lapsed into silence, loping through the fields until the lights of Haemuin appeared ahead.

**Haemuin, Arcúnalin, Anórien, Gondor.  
>(23 Mar., Spring Feast), Tuilérë.<strong>

The clatter of the town dissipated with each step upon the hill, the countryside sprawling away. Aira passed beneath the outer wall mounted on the slope, its watchmen unmoving at spotting the gold stag emblazoned on her clothing. The barracks stood empty, leaving very few soldiers to notice her. On the far side of the fort, she found the training grounds, empty and lined with equipment. Shouting disturbed the stillness, leading her past a large shed. Upon an open spread of dirt, two boys squared off, a man judging the fight. The taller of the two gained an upper hand, kicking the other to the ground. The smaller boy yanked behind his opponent's knee, causing him to fall. He leapt on top, but toppled backward from a kick.

"Boys."

He punched at the bigger boy, but the man seized their arms, sending them in separate directions.

"Daro!" the man yelled, causing both boys to freeze in fear. "If either of you violates training protocol again, I will snap your bows and discharge you from service."

Both shuddered, their shoulders soaked with sweat. "Yes, Captain," they mumbled in unison.

"You are soldiers, not drunk thugs arguing in the gutter."

He paused, a glint of gold across the arena capTúring his attention. The soldier studied the female, from tightly bound hair to well-made boots. Both boys followed his gaze, staring dumbfounded at the girl. As they attempted to react, the soldier motioned for them to stay still. Aira swallowed uncertainly at his approach, her nerve fraying. Remembering the sting of potential punishments, she fortified her mind and tilted her head in acknowledgment.

"Greetings, Lady Aira."

"Greetings, Captain Vîramar. I prefer to not be called that."

"But it is your title."

"I never asked for it," she said softly. "How did you recognize me?"

"Few wear the gold stag of Dorómal, or your brother Imlach's cuirass. I am sure he would appreciate its return," he said, frowning.

"You trained him?" she asked.

"No. I served with him when he first joined the Guard. How do you know who I am?"

She lowered her gaze. "Hallas pointed you out once, and Melle told me where to find you."

Vîramar responded hesitantly, "Why would she guide you here?"

"I wish to enter training under your supervision," she paused, drawing a deep breath. "So I may become a soldier of Arcúnalin."

His face remained unmoving, every feature locked in position. She clenched her fists, pouring her will into returning the stare.

"Why?"

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"Melle said you are the only one who treats her equal, not to be downtrodden or pitied because of birth. Despite your positions, you respected one another like sisters, and hoped to join Guard together. Why?"

Aira stuttered, overwhelmed by his bluntness. "My brothers both serve. I want to bring honor to my house like they do."

"You lie, Lady Aira," he said. "The strength of your house lies not in your loyalty to duty, but the fire of your hearts. It gave your ancestors the unfaltering ability to survive and lead. I am oathbound to protect it. If you cannot follow your instincts, I will not train you."

"I do not need to be protected," she said. Her face smoldered as she stepped closer. "All my life, I sat in a cage, watching my life go by unlived. My family stuck me there out of terror. I befriended Melle because she helped me see past it. We use hope to break free the shackles of fear in the face of shadow. I do not need defense, but strength. If I do not claim it, if you do not train me, then my clipped wings will keep me spiraling earthward. One day I will hit the bottom. I don't need to be the best like Melle, just strong."

"Now you're being honest." Vîramar smiled. "The Indûrion have greater ability than you realize."

"I don't see it," she said.

"I will guide you," he said suddenly. "You will do everything I say, even if it may kill you."

Aira examined his stern features, courage surging into her veins like a tidal wave. "Yes, sir."

"We'll begin now," said Vîramar. He pointed wayward to the two ogling teenage boys. "I want you to best them in a fight."

* * *

><p><strong>SN (Story Notes)**

-Nénimë: the second month in the calendars of the Men of Middle-earth. It runs from about modern day 22 January to 20 February.

-"Mellon": (Sindarin): "friend".

-Cuirass: piece of armor constructed from rigid material, which covers the torso (chest). Think Faramir's leather one with the White Tree from The Two Towers movie.

-Dorómal: A province of Númenor.

-"Daro!" (Sindarin): "Stop!"

**Character notes:**

_Hallas, Imlach and Aira are the children of Iradan Indûrion and Elrîn (his wife). Captain Elored from the prologue is Iradan and Istoan's father. This is Aira's biological family. She and her brothers were raised by foster parents named Selethryth Caeadan and Caranthir. The Caeadan family lives in Núnhel._

_Aira is her common/familiar name, though she was named Irien at birth. Most of the characters appearing in the story have a birth name and common name (due to social standards), but I will not cover this._

_Arcúnalin is a province in the territory of Anórien, within Gondor. It extends from the meeting point of the Rivers Entwash and Anduin, to the edges of Amon Din and Drúadan forest. The Indûrion are the ruling house of this province, with Iradan as its lord. Haemuin is the central town ("capital") of Arcúnalin. _

_Dates. I strongly advise you pay attention to these or look back from time to time. No, I didn't typo any of them. I apologize for any discrepancies in language or names. I have worked on this story for many years. I will try to catch iffy things where possible. This story builds another structure within the Lord of the Rings. I will try to explain where I can, but I will leave the rest up to you reader. I will provide a resource page for this story. If you have any questions, feel free to ask!_

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

**Author's Note:** An introduction is mandated for readers starting this story. This story has developed over a period of seven years and nearly two hundred pages of family trees, plot lines, notes, and painstaking research. It took a very long time to begin writing it, since the task and story seemed insurmountable. Inspired by the mastermind of Middle-earth, the history I created for The Black Crown spans millennia and nearly a thousand characters. The aim was to explore the events inside and contributing to the setting of the Lord of the Rings series, especially through the eyes of independent observers. My goal took on a life of its own, spawning a large creation for the world which captured my heart.

PS: It is highly recommended that you have read some of Tolkien's work, at least Lord of the Rings. There will be a lot of canon material in here, but keep in mind this is fan-fiction. I will clarify material and facts where I can, including ones used for my own purposes.

I will answer any questions, feel free to ask!


	2. Unequal

**Chapter Two: Unequal**

_"Because your own strength is unequal to the task,_  
><em>do not assume that it is beyond the powers of man;<em>  
><em>but if anything is within the powers and province of man,<em>  
><em>believe that it is within your own compass also."<em>  
><em>-Marcus Aurelius<em>

**Haemuin. (June 21) 30th Nárië, 3005.**

The sword was a burden to her muscles, awkward and cumbersome. Her balance grew accustomed over time, the blade becoming an extension of limb. The seasons passed quickly, measurable only in the wear of her leather scabbard, and hardening of her palms. The rains chilled her to the bone, but nurtured the earth, bringing abundant sustenance for her expanding frame. Her ambitions expanded daily, her spirit unquenchable. Her body hardened in endurance and strength, withstanding every demand.

Once more, she called upon a reserve of energy, flooding it into her legs. She flew across the grass, hardly touching the ground. She evaded a dip in the terrain, focusing on the wall looming ahead. As a child, these maneuvers had been impossible, often resulting in falls. Behind her, she heard a loud thud, as one of her racing opponents tripped. A large form suddenly surged past. Desperation claimed her muscles, until she stopped full speed at the wall. Another boy stood bent before the gate, his hand clenching the stonework. He smirked between breaths, attempting to laugh. She smacked the gate in frustration, grinding her foot into the ground.

"Ok, you win Amlaith. I'm second."

The boy rolled his eyes, pointing towards their comrade sprawled several meters away. "You only won second place because Anborn fell."

"Nuh uh," she retorted.

"You're a girl," he said, smiling further. "That makes every recruit faster than you."

Aira watched Anborn limp to the gate. "I've seen enough to know half of you don't qualify as men yet."

"Ouch," laughed Anborn. "Amlaith, you certainly have that problem."

Amlaith punched the other boy in the shoulder, causing Aira to flinch. He winked at her, motioning awkwardly. "Aira doesn't have anything at all, being a girl."

"I don't see any advantage," she replied, gazing at the pair.

She fell silent at the teasing glint in their eyes, her self-assurance teetering. Water droplets escaped her bundle of wet hair, splashing onto the back of her neck. The run had little effect on Amlaith and Anborn, both still dripping and damp. The trio had practiced their combat skills, and swam inside the local pond to recover after the summer sun.

"When you are pushing a baby out, you'll change your mind," said Amlaith.

"If you're trying to dissuade me from the Guard tryouts tomorrow, it's not working," she said.

"We wouldn't do that," said Anborn.

"Sure."

Aira shook her head, waving nonchalantly at him. She pivoted to the gateway, turning her attention to the hills beyond. Caps of green topped stony mounds spread across the landscape, an unkempt path winding through its heart. Without another word, she strode under its archway. The stern faces of two large statues overshadowed either side of the path, watching the passersby with battered stone swords.

Hesitant, the boys trailed her into the hillside. They caught up quickly, their attention fixed on Aira. Amlaith strode in sync with her, trying to forget the nearby barrows.

"Why do you always shortcut to the garrison through Amardîn?"

She skirted a grassy mound, not meeting his gaze. "No one comes here."

Anborn came alongside the pair, warily skirting the barrows. "I hate going through here. It's eerie."

"At least your dead relatives aren't buried here," said Aira.

"Seeing as half Haemuin is related to your family, at least one of them is here."

She breathed in deeply, trying to ignore a monolith in her peripheral vision. Swallowing the humid air with difficulty, she moved onward. The more she challenged her ancestor's unyielding presence, the less she feared their legacy and her family. Anborn promptly spun backward, returning to the gate.

"Chicken!" called Amlaith.

"Leave him be," said Aira, yanking his sleeve.

They remained silent during the walk, navigating the twisting path out of Amardîn, into adjacent pastures. Herds of livestock roamed the wild grasses outside the barrows, ignoring the pair as they roamed their space. Rough aisles of rock barricaded the animals from the high walls of Haemuin's fort beyond, standing watch over the emptiness. As they neared an outlying military building, Aira slowed her pace.

"I don't think I should've risked coming here. Vîramar usually trains me at dusk with the recruits, so the officers don't see." On impulse, she unbound her hair and shielded her face with its length.

"Do you want the best equipment tomorrow or not?"

"Isn't it cheating?" she asked.

He frowned. "I only failed last year because I had the worn out training gear. My spear broke in the middle of the trials."

"I want to pass because of skill, not disadvantage. I can't prove myself otherwise."

"Fine, have it your way. At least help me, I can't stand anymore humiliation."

"Lower your voice," she said, reaching for the door.

Noiselessly they entered the shed, searching around nervously. Aisled racks of equipment neatly lined the walls, filled to the brim with swords, shields, and bows. A series of faint thuds met their ears, putting them on alert. A moment later, they heard heavy grunts and whispers. Exchanging glances, they snuck into the last aisle. A half clothed couple came into view, their garments askew on the floor. Hearing their intruding footsteps, the couple broke apart in panic.

"Hallas?" sputtered Aira.

The woman's sheet of dark hair fell from her face, revealing Gweneth, Aira's tutor.

"Sister!" exclaimed Amlaith.

He lunged in Hallas's direction, but Aira restrained him. "Hold on, you don't want to do that."

The couple blundered for their belongings, fully clothing themselves within seconds. Aira averted her eyes, trying to forget Gweneth's messy hair and crooked skirts.

"You're not supposed to return from Daerost until tomorrow for the Guard trials," she sputtered.

"Why were you defiling my sister?" interrupted Amlaith

The males gazed at each other in challenge, calculating each other's thoughts. Amlaith glared and balled his hands into fists, ready to strike. Hallas studied Aira and reactively calmed down.

"I was not 'defiling' Gweneth. I love her. Why are you skulking around with my sister in the gear shed? I guess your intentions no less noble for her."

Aira reddened. "We aren't doing anything wrong. It's none of your business."

"It is my business if you're coupling with the likes of Amlaith."

She frowned at her brother, and crossed her arms. "I'm not! In one year I can spread my legs for whoever I wish."

All three froze, Hallas chortling. "I believe you. Amlaith is still too gangly for women."

"Don't be cruel," said Gweneth, kissing his cheek.

Amlaith flushed darker red, mumbling incoherently.

"Your intentions were devious in some regard. Judging by your clothing, you are preparing for the Guard trials tomorrow. Iradan has not allowed it," said Hallas.

"He didn't forbid anything, I just didn't ask. I don't remember him permitting you to match with Gweneth. Didn't he want you to court Dorwen of Lamedon?"

Rolling his eyes, Hallas said, "This is why we have not revealed ourselves. I am waiting until Imlach is ready for an officer position. I will promote him, then take my leave to marry Gweneth."

"Leave the military?" said Aira, open-mouthed. "But father could disown you for disobeying duty. You were born into this position."

"Ironic you were not born into it, but desire such duties. Bravery? Sacrifice? Submission? Unless I tell father of your plans to join the Guard—"

"You can't," blurted Amlaith. "If my mother finds out beforehand, she'll kill me."

She searched inwardly for a second idea, but there was no alternative to threatening him. She needed to force him, otherwise he would not take her seriously. Swallowing hard, she watched her brother's calm face. "What about your tryst with my manners tutor? What will father think about such influence?"

"You little hobgoblin!" scowled Gweneth.

"You are my sister first, and Iradan's daughter second," retorted Hallas. "In your heart, you know this isn't wrong. You will not tell him."

_Maybe._

Chewing her lip, she stared at him in defeat. "Hallas, you're right. Please do not destroy my dream. I will not destroy yours."

"Why would I?" he said, smirking. "Iradan will lose me, but gain a devoted soldier. I fear he will corrupt your loyalty. It will be harnessed and molded, though your heart may break beneath the toll. I feel it on mine, and I no longer will allow it."

He reached out to Aira, and she took it tentatively. Amlaith stood next to his sister, aghast.

"I never heard anyone speak of the Ambatár in such fashion."

"Iradan is not a bad man," said Hallas. "His heart has hardened under the shadow. He bears a heavy burden, but it is rarely appreciated."

"He will never accept your resignation," said Aira.

"He has no choice," answered Hallas.

At the couple's insistence, Amlaith and Aira departed the fort, heading for town. They were too stunned by the event to argue with Hallas and Gweneth. They entered the center of Haemuin, searching for a distraction. The area swam with people, filling the roads with noise, obstacles, and confusion. The day's exertions were beginning to weigh on their shoulders, sinking their spirits further. Amlaith trudged sluggishly alongside Aira, his silence overpowering their walk. He stared in empty focus at the ground, lost in his thoughts. Aira's belly grumbled loudly, shaking her abdomen with discomfort.

"Perhaps we should return for dinner," she said lowly. "I bet you're starving too."

"No, we can eat in the market. "Amlaith weaved around an errant mule, his attention suddenly fixing elsewhere. "I can't face my mother after this. I saw Gweneth-ugh!"

"We need to forget about it. There's nothing we can do, or should do."

She lengthened her stride, dodging people to keep at his side. He grew more withdrawn when she tried to question him. On the edge of the market square, they spotted a familiar vendor, well known for its cuisine. The crowd remained thick on this particular portion of the street, making navigation difficult. She remained behind Amlaith, using him to politely plow a path between pedestrians. Despite their equal height, the width of his maturing frame already surpassed hers. They reached the wide counter of the vendor's stall, and were greeted with empty trays and baskets. A man with wiry white hair tottered over to receive them, his wrinkles creased in anger.

"I have nothing for you," he said. "I'm out of stock."

Amlaith titled his head in concern, greedily studying an empty basket. "It's not the meal hour yet. You can't be out of food."

"Lad, are you blind?" snapped the vendor. "I have nothing. I can barely operate my business with the food I am able to sell this year."

"You're the largest food stall in Haemuin. How is that possible?" asked Aira quietly.

The man pointed to the hill of Herindol on the opposite side of the townscape. The elegant domed house of the Indûrion estate rested atop its slopes like a crown.

"The high and mighty Lord Iradan decided to ration half of Arcúnalin's stock. He will run us out of business and starve the rest."

"Maybe there's a reason?" replied Amlaith.

"He's got no reason! Bless the late lady Idhrîn, but the halfbreeds she left behind continue to ruin us."

The pair gaped at him, unable to form a proper response. He waved them away and strutted off, leaving them at the empty counter. Aira nudged her companion back to the street. Amlaith dragged her in the opposite direction, until they found another stall. They purchased meat pastries and found refuge in a small alley off the main route. An upside down water trough served as their bench. It lay under the shadow of a tall house, shielding them from view.

They ate in silence, their faces revealing everything they wanted to say. They sat side by side, their thighs together to support the arrangement of their meal. The food stuck in the back of Aira's throat, sticking uncomfortably behind her tongue. She swallowed with difficulty, forcing the pastry down. As they finished, a chorus of voices interrupted their meal. A group of five boys emerged on the street crossing, laughing loudly.

The shortest among them caught sight of Amlaith, and prompted his group to stop. He approached first, stopping several meters away. Aira shielded her face with her hair, lowering it behind Amlaith's shoulder.

"Amlaith, I didn't know you could afford a prostitute. She must be rather cheap to let you touch her," said the newcomer.

A shudder of irritation ran through Amlaith, to the notice of Aira.

"I am no prostitute," she said.

She rose to her feet, answering the intruder with a scowl. She recognized the stout boy as Baurin, a pestilent sixteen year old loathed by everyone their age. Noting the mud and dung on the pairs' boots, he smirked.

"Clearly not," replied Baurin, turning his attention to Amlaith "You've been practicing in the fort before you're humiliated again."

"Just enjoying our meal," said Amlaith, ignoring the insult. "I'm surprised you aren't practicing, Baurin. After all, you did fail that training competition last month."

"At this point, we all have equal chances, despite our mistakes," said Baurin. He paused and pointed at the girl. "Minus _Lady _Aira of course."

Gritting her teeth, Aira raised an eyebrow with feigned interest. "Oh? Why might that be?"

"Gondor's military is not for weaklings."

"I imagine that excludes you," said Aira. "Amlaith beats you at everything, minus butt-kissing."

Baurin frowned, staring at her. The other boys sniggered quietly, one whispering in Baurin's ear. He licked his lips, restraining a laugh.

"Your weakness blinded us at first to your motives at the fort. Truly, you are an ugly mouse, lusting for things you cannot have, like a man."

Amlaith's mouth opened in surprise, and he glanced at Aira. Her expression flickered uncertainly, causing him to scowl.

"You're an ignorant snake," said Amlaith.

"Am I? We all know no one in Gondor has touched her. No one will, seeing what she is truly is. What a waste of womanhood!" said Baurin.

Aira tried to hide her wounded pride, but Amlaith bristled in reaction. He grasped her elbow and squeezing, urging her to respond.

"You are a moron with a death wish," snapped Aira. "Lucky I forgave your groping my backside three months ago. Otherwise my father would've cut off your hands by now."

"If you ever talk like that again," said Amlaith. "I will ensure Lord Iradan hears of it."

The boys' levity faded, and they snarled. Seizing Aira's hand, Amlaith attempted to keep calm and marched her away. The raw nerves and tension in Aira's belly thickened with every step, her blood pounding while she restrained her emotions. Baurin consistently proved a loathsome buffoon, usually ineffective in trying to provoke her. The vendor's furious words left her rattled, and wondering if the boy's behavior was connected.

_Do people hate my family that much?_

They skirted the opposite side of the square, seeking refuge beside a shaded fountain. He forced her to sit, but her mind was utterly distracted from the present. Her face was pained and sallow, her expression unfocused.

"How can people in Haemuin say these things?" she asked in a strangled voice.

"There are many ignorant people in the world." He gripped her hand tighter. "Anborn and I only tease you because it's funny for all of us. We aren't trying to hurt you."

"You're my friends."

"Exactly!"

"But—about the other thing. If people hate us so much, who would want me? That means Baurin is right!" replied Aira, strangling a sob.

She sank against his arm, but he wrenched it away and cupped her cheeks.

"Baurin is full of lying filth. You will never say that again."

She gazed at him in wonder, inhaling deeply and nodding. Her grey eyes remained hollow and deep.

"I will prove it to you," he whispered.

The fringes of his dark hair curtained her cheeks as he lightly kissed her. His rough lips traced a smooth ridge on her mouth, spreading the salty wetness of her tears. She balked at the new sensation, but allowed him to continue another minute. They parted, Amlaith inspecting her features.

The liquid in her throat choked her speech. "Am-I don't-"

He slid an arm around her, pulling close. "I know...it's not like that."

.-.-.-.

"No."

The word rang loudly in her ears, incomprehensible. Flustered, she wiped another stream of sweat off her palm, never parting gaze with the muddy eyes. She recalled every movement and accomplishment performed this morning, searching for errors.

Nothing.

"Commander Heregdar, please explain. I believe this judgment is wrong."

The officer uncrossed his legs, nodding to Vîramar and Brilthor on either side of him.

"Commander Brilthor, what do you say?"

The other officer exhaled in frustration, his features stern. "Actually, Captain Vîramar and I agree you exceed all expectations. You almost topped everyone in these trials."

"Ultimately," interrupted Heregdar. "Captain Vîramar is not the utmost head of Haemuin's legion, but Lord Iradan. He stopped here at noon, and expressly forbade your passage."

Aira stiffened, all hope quickly fading. "My brother Hallas is to replace Vîramar—"

"_Lieutenant_ Hallas is stationed at Daerost. His opinion will have little weight until next year," retorted Heregdar.

"You are slime compared to him."

"Lady Aira," said Vîramar, bolting upright out of his chair.

Her mouth clamped shut obediently, acknowledging the disapproval in his furrowed brow. She shivered despite the sun radiating on her back. The last of her anger melted into a silent weakness inside her muscles. All of this effort couldn't go to waste, she wouldn't let it.

"However, we agreed that Commander Heregdar and your father may alter their opinions given a few years."

"Sir!" exclaimed Aira. "Everyone starts combat training this autumn."

Vîramar's mouth tightened and he gazed at her sympathetically. "Given you continue training and excel at a pace alongside your peers, you may enter eventually."

"With your father's permission of course," said Heregdar, his face stony.

Their ensuing discussion became gibberish, numbness claiming her senses. When they dismissed her, she walked away mindlessly. On the fringes of the arena, a group of triumphant boys mingled in celebration. She turned to another exit, and ran into several more. Anborn strode up to her, waving an engraved soldier pin at her. The Haemuin antlers and star insignia shone tauntingly at her, the edges glinting dully.

"We did it!" he said triumphantly.

"Glad to see your father finally gave in," she murmured. "Mine didn't."

The boy stumbled back, watching her march through the main gate. At the inner city wall, she broke into a sprint. She hurtled down empty side-streets and alleys towards home. The slope of the Herindol hill sapped her strength to the top, until she stomped into the entryway of the Indûrion manor. Her angry footsteps echoed across the cavernous hall and snowy white pillars. A woman appeared atop the mammoth stairs, swooping towards her on sight. The glass specked dome overhead spilled webs of light onto the woman's dark gold head, her hair bright as flames. Fixated in the center of the hall, Aira waited in place.

"Mother?"

Elrîn placed a hand gently on her shoulder, feeling the quaking in her daughter's frame. They remained still, the woman entirely focused on her.

"Calm yourself little doe."

"I'm lost," she said quietly.

"Hardly," said Elrîn. "You know your way, but need to find the path. This is fork in the road."

"I can't see it," said Aira, inaudibly. "You both knew about it, and he stopped me. How?"

She stared icy and solid at the floor, causing the woman to embrace her. Aira's fingers clenched at the fabric encompassing her, unable to grasp it firmly.

"We're your parents. Your father thought it best." said Elrîn. "I promise this isn't the end."

She put a finger beneath her daughter's chin, watching carefully.

"You will help me?" asked Aira.

"I will not defy Iradan, but I will give you tools for this dream. There is much you need to learn about the world before you can take this path."

The tightness in Aira's body relieved, slowing her breathing. Her mother paused, stroking her hair and whispering.

"I will send you to Aníran in Rhovanion."

"Are you forcing me away again?" asked Aira blankly.

"No, you will come back. You will always come back."

* * *

><p><strong>SN (Story Notes)**

-Amardîn: A wide piece of hilly land stretching west of Haemuin. The Indûrion family has been buried there in barrows for many millennia.

-Nárië: The sixth month of the year, running between 23 May and 21 June. As used here, it belongs to the calendar system used by Gondor.

_Character notes:_

-Gweneth is Amlaith's sister.

-Idhrîn is Iradan's grandmother. She ruled Arcúnalin over fifty years ago, before the current chapter. She is Aira's great-grandmother. Her husband is Marshal Déor of Rohan, from the prologue.

-Herindol: A large hill upon the northwest portion of Haemuin. It composes about 15% of the town. The topmost half of Herindol belongs to a large estate owned by the Indûrion family.

-Anborn: Another recruit training for the Guard of Arcúnalin. Yes, it is _that _Anborn.


	3. Crownless

**Chapter Three: Crownless**

_"The crown of life is neither happiness nor annihilation;_  
><em>it is understanding."<em>  
><em>-Winifred Holtby<em>

**Orfalch Pass, Rhovanion.**  
><strong>(Oct. 22nd) 1st Hísimë, 3005.<strong>

The wood creaked beneath her body, inaudible against the lapping waves. Crisp tendrils of autumn air stole over the boat's edges, chilling her shaking hands. Heavy shrouds of grey blanketed the sky above, weighing on her upward gaze. Growing nauseous, Aira gripped her belly tighter, trying to alleviate her pain.

"Stop pushing," said Geliras, not looking away from his paddle. "You will make it worse."

"What else should I do?" snapped Aira.

"Stop letting Orcs cutting you open," said Oropher, a young man sitting next to Geliras. "Your hacking wasn't very effective."

Aira focused on the gathering mountain peaks ahead, gulping air. "So I deserved it?"

"Yes."

"Silence, both of you," said Geliras. "You bicker like children."

"She's a little princess," said Oropher, smirking.

Geliras nudged the napping young woman next to Aira with his foot. He flattened his greying hair, and continued gazing out at the river.

"Your birth, your blood, your age means nothing in the Wild. It will make anything of us that it desires, survivors or corpses."

Drowsily the woman lifted her head, studying Aira. "It stopped then?"

"I would appreciate your help when I'm bleeding Míriel."

"Maybe next time."

Míriel rolled over wearily, closing her eyes against the sunlight. Aira sealed her lips and bit her tongue in anger. Shortly thereafter, they landed upon a steep embankment and stowed the boat. Oropher begrudgingly helped Aira walk, a frown plastered on his face. The riverside gave way into outlying town walls, barely discernible against the surrounding hillside. He freed himself at the entrance, grunting when Aira thanked him.

The group stopped at barracks near the main gate, finding it empty. They took their time storing equipment; keeping Aira too busy to notice Geliras and Míriel's disappearance minutes later. Accidentally Aira dropped her bow, holding her backside in pain. Oropher slipped past the weapons rack, putting down his gear. Eyes watering, the girl glared at the door.

"Where did the others go?"

The man's mouth drooped, his expression awkward. He instructed her to a bench, urging her beside him.

"Geliras and Míriel are together in the sleeping barracks," he murmured, reaching for medical supplies.

She stared at him blankly, then gasped. "That's not possible! He's married to my Aunt!"

"Lady Faelin is middle-aged and childless. Why do you think that is?" said Oropher.

"I don't want to know."

The soldier grunted, slowly lifting her torn shirt. "You'll understand when you're older."

"Ow!"

She recoiled as he unwound the dressing across her wound. He grabbed her by the hips, beginning to apply disinfecting substances.

"Don't squirm."

"I'll try," she replied, gritting her teeth. "I am old enough. I caught my brother doing the same thing, in a shed no less!"

"Is your brother married?"

"No, it was his betrothed."

"They are in love. This behavior is only harmful."

"Then I should tell Lady Faelin."

Oropher's finger slipped in reaction, making her yelp. He passed a flask of water to her, pausing. "You shouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"You need an answer for everything, don't you?"

"Yes."

"This is more complicated than you realize," he answered. "And she likely chooses to ignore it."

Aira sat in stunned silence, until he finished dressing her injury. She attempted to smile. "It feels better, thanks."

"Forget Míriel. She will earn her comeuppance," he said, shrugging.

"Míriel has bad taste. I wouldn't let someone treat me in such fashion."

Oropher chuckled, breaking into a rare smile. "Girls in your position wear pretty gowns to their marriage bed, while their men take those girls in back rooms."

"I will never be like Faelin," said Aira quickly.

"You won't be like her if you find somebody to love," he replied, lapsing into silence.

.-.-.-.

Bells clanged loud in her ears, jarring her thoughts and echoing against lengthy towers of stone. The sun slatted gold rays through the grey reaches of the rooftops, casting solemn shadows at her feet. Frost slicked the cobblestoned road, making the walk precarious. Throngs of people milled in the streets, the main square impassable. Standing tiptoe, she saw four lines flowing into the town's supply complex.

Incessant chattering filled the air in aching din, overwhelming her senses. Her fingers tingled from the cool air, causing her to squeeze them vigorously. Her attempts to pass the crowd were rebuffed by individuals in line. A group of middle-aged women glared at her in disdain.

"Wait your turn."

"Ma'am-"

"There's plenty, despite all of the outsiders pecking at it."

"I have no intention of—"

"You may wait at the end with the riffraff."

The women swung away, ignoring her further. Her patience eroding, Aira pushed in another direction. She found openings fringing the shops, and then left the main square. Her stomach churned in hunger and she debated returning to the house. An abrupt shout caught her attention, snapping her out of reverie. Someone bashed her in the side, the force throwing her to the ground. Her eyes stung, pain throbbing across her body.

A figure hurtled through the street, three men in pursuit. Their prey stumbled on the cobblestones, smashing the jar he carried. They thrashed at the thin boy with their fists and feet. Another man broke from the impervious crowds, bolting into the brawl. His golden head dodged blows, distracting from their original purpose. He downed one of the attackers, but the pair drew their swords.

Doubt plagued Aira as she watched, trying to swallow tension flowing in her veins. She locked her wobbling legs, and withdrew her bow. She aimed at the melee, her flustered fingers shaking. The attacking pair mercilessly hacked at the man, nearly injuring him

The muddy eyed men melted into the grotesque twisted shapes in her memory. The Orcs had maniacally hollered and thrashed at her, slicing flesh. The fell blades swung at the blonde man, seeking his blood. Spontaneously she loosed the arrow, her spine quivering in fear. The murky shadow around them broke, one of the attackers screaming in pain. Before she could redraw, an imposing form crossed her vision and struck the other man in the head.

The newcomer spoke with a clear strong voice. "Lay down your weapons, there is no further need of violence. Tell your master this boy's debt will be paid."

Wide-eyed, the men acknowledged the command and stumbled away. Aira stowed her bow and limped towards the men. The newcomer pulled the boy up, blood dripping from his form.

"Gilion, you paid heavily for that broken jar. Your mother would sicken if she lost you."

The girl stopped at a cautious distance. "Are you alright?"

"Now I am," huffed the blonde man, gazing at her. "Did you fire the arrow?"

She nodded, drawing the other man's observation. His stern grey eyes were reassuring, stripping the remaining fear from her.

"You showed bravery, but shot in fear," he said quietly. "Shadow should never be allowed to overcome your heart."

Her cheeked turned scarlet and warm. "Yes, sir. You showed nothing of the sort."

"Even I carry fear, it is hard to master," he said, turning to the Samaritan. "Thank you for helping Gilion. I should have watched him closer."

"I would do it again," said the blonde man, lowering his head. "My name is Dairon. What is your name?"

"Anything you may imagine! The town people here call me Strider."

"I will too, but I do not recognize your name," said Dairon.

Aira studied the dark haired boy and man, taking in their weather-stained clothing. Their lean forms were impressive in height and endurance. A questioning look passed between her and Dairon, making him pause.

"Are you from over the Hithaeglir?" he asked.

"Yes. We came here to trade and acquire supplies."

"How many?"

"Two dozen."

Curiosity peaked, Aira stepped forward. "My grandmother is Lady Aníran. Would you bring your people to her estate? Dairon, please come along too."

.-.-.-.

"How did you get this ludicrous idea?" hissed Geliras.

He stared at the people feasting at wide tables, set with assortments of food and drink. The long hall filled with their merry voices, laughter carrying into the vaulting ceiling.

"I only invited them. Grandmother fed, bathed, clothed, and supplied them," said Aira, smirking.

At the end of the table, a wrinkled hand pointed at Geliras. "Your grumbling is petty. Be gone."

"Yes, milady," he replied.

He gritted his teeth and left the room quickly. Immediately Aira claimed his empty chair, full attention on her grandmother. The old woman fixed ice grey eyes on the girl's face, her voice softening.

"Ignore the wretch. You did well Aira. I am happy to help kinsfolk."

"Kinsfolk?"

Aníran's face grew heavy. "The Northern Dúnedain are my husband's people. They do not usually travel here in such large numbers, but a hard winter is coming. I am pleased to see their smiles."

"Why is Geliras angry?"

"He considers me wasteful, even in assisting the Dúnedain. He dreams only of my title in my daughter's hands, to use her power. He sees weakness in benevolence, and blinds himself to honor."

Several guests walked by their emptied table, beckoning to them with grateful nods. They joined a trio of people, chatting in earnest. Aníran paused, drawn to the opposite end of the hall. The ruffled form of Strider passed between individuals, speaking with each one. Everyone greeted him warmly and offered their hands. He towered over the room, serenity in his graceful walk.

"Then there are such men, like this Chieftain of the Dúnedain. Observe him well, for he bears royal blood of the noblest exiled Númenóreans. Such men are born to be Kings."

Aira contemplated him with respect, drawing in details. The light of his eyes added to his venerable appearance, unkempt hair betraying his roaming spirit. His grey flecked hair remained shaggy, too wild for a crown.

"There is something different about him, but I cannot see him sitting on a throne," she replied.

"One day you will see these traits in others. The greatest of men do not need to wear crowns."

"Geliras would look awful in one," said Aira. Chuckling, she raised a cup to her lips. "No doubt he dreams of them."

"Indeed. He will never be a king, but his smaller goal is near at hand. Very few seasons remain to me," said Aníran.

Choking on her drink, Aira slammed the cup down. "Don't say that!"

"Manners, young lady," chided her grandmother. "I find comfort that his offspring will never sit in my chair. Faelin is beyond childbearing, and you will continue my descent."

"What…what do you mean?" asked Aira.

"This territory is a mere slice of its ancient country, but one day you will inherit my lands," said Aníran. "My pick of the grandchildren as my heir—the condition I set for Elrîn to marry your father."

Aira sat in stunned silence, gaping at her. "I gave up these ideas long ago. Imlach and Hallas are meant for such things."

"I chose a girl on purpose."

"Why?" asked Aira, clenching her fist. "Some of my foremothers led and fought, but I am third born and last. I have no place of honor, no matter where I try."

Aníran straightened in her chair, face astute. "Aira, you are very capable. When you are older, you will change your mind. I offer you refuge away from the sadness of your father's house."

"It—can be hard living there," said Aira slowly. "But we have always managed, even against the East."

"There is a far older cause of Indûrion sorrow…before the darkness on Gondor," whispered Aníran.

.-.-.-.

**Orfalch Pass, Rhovanion.**  
><strong>(Jan 2nd) 12th Narvinyë, 3007.<strong>

_The drumming of the hooves and wild neighs beat upon the air…_

Silken banners of copper, grey, gold, and black streamed along the limits of the fence, a loose herd galloping past. The lanky man next to her bellowed with laughter.

"See how they show off? Aira, these are the finest horses in Gondor! Apart from the Rohirrim bred."

Aira smiled earnestly. "Why are we here?"

Caranthir brushed her hair gently, not looking down. His silence permeated the chilled air between them. He attempted to speak, clearing his throat repeatedly.

"Your father contacted me. He demanded you come to Arcúnalin next week."

Faint images of a broad man with bright eyes came to mind, and she nodded. "I did not mind his last visit—"

Caranthir interrupted. "Aira, you are not visiting. You will live there again."

Her spirit plummeted. "No, please don't make me!"

"Shh shh," he said, bending to her level. "We are here to pick an early birthday present for you. In Núnhel, it is tradition to pick a horse at coming of age."

Aira pointed at the pasture full of young horses, swallowing her threatening tears. "They are awfully small."

"You won't ride it until your eighteenth birthday," said Caranthir. "Come; let's forget our sadness for now."

He led her through the gate, into the clusters of animals. Some fled at their approach; the rest ignored them and perused the ground. Slowly she walked through the herd, her footsteps thoughtful. While petting a red filly, she felt a large bump. Her satchel jostled mid-air, a brown head buried deep within the contents.

"Hey!"

The colt released the bag, swinging his face to hers. A white star dripped down his forehead, and his black eyes watched her steadily. Aira caught his cheek, stroking the smooth hair.

"Who are you boy?" she murmured.

Caranthir strode around the other horses, observing the colt. "He's a pretty fellow. Is this the one you want?"

Her breath quickened, and she exclaimed, "Yes! I like him very much."

"You did a good job," said Caranthir, beaming.

"Did you pick a horse at my age too?"

"Yes. What will you name him?"

"_Alagos."_

The chilled countryside of Núnhel faded from vision, her mind stirring in confusion. Darkness seeped in, replacing the sunlight. The strong hand on her shoulder squeezed again, demanding attention. She turned to Dairon, snapping out of the daydream. He watched her warily, his movements hesitant.

"Aira, I'm sorry for your loss, but you must listen."

Her mind began to spin, the numbness of her daydream threatening to recede. She gripped the feeling in desperation, trying to forget her reason for being there.

"I'm not sure I can," she said, fingers clenching tighter. "I am surprised you came."

Dairon bowed his head, focused on the stone floor. "I owe Lady Aníran a great deal for employing me. It is why I came here when no one else would."

"They dishonor her," said Aira ruefully. "No one has laid offerings since we came here."

"No one is allowed near the tombs," said Dairon. "The area is sealed. I came by secret ways Lady Aníran entrusted me with."

Aira held back a sob, tracing the winged emblazoned on the box she held. The silvery inlays shimmered in the dull light, reflecting on the walls. Her grandmother lay upon a pedestal before them, her lifeless form covered by a white shroud. A dried flower perched upon its edge, gold pedals crumpled and faded.

"She felt pain at sundown, and we took the same path. I helped her from the house. She died at midnight." Her voice broke, strong pangs in her chest. "Faelin will receive the title and its seal stamp—my mother the heir's ring. I didn't realize Geliras would act so quickly."

"Your Aunt can rightfully hold the title, but Geliras demands the ring too," said Dairon.

She glared at the doorway, nails biting into the box edges. "Likely for Míriel and his bastard. That child bears little Thôrhenn blood."

"However, you are a direct descendant," said Dairon. "If you do not flee by sundown, he will seize or kill you. Then, Faelin will no longer be safe. If we leave the seal here, another guard will deliver it to Lady Faelin. I will escort you from the Pass."

Fear gnawed at Aira's stomach. "He would do such a thing?"

"Put no faith in him or your Aunt's abilities," said Dairon. "She has weakened beyond resistance, and our people remain honor bound to follow Thôrhenn blood….in any shape or form."

"I think this went on for years," said Aira. "Faelin is beyond hope. Why did my mother send me here?"

"I wonder too. Many things could have gone wrong," he said softly. "Despite your age."

"Dairon, can you help me home? I will keep the provisions my grandmother made you."

"To Arcúnalin?" he asked.

"No, to Núnhel."

He raised an eyebrow and said, "I shall. No action is required on your behalf."

They bid farewell to Aníran, leaving her in peace. They wound deeper into the catacombs, past the ancient tombs of her forebears. After seemingly hours in the dark, they emerged outside through a stony cove. It dropped into the recesses of a dried river bed, a former tributary of the Gladden River. The sun fringed the horizon, casting long shadows as they reached the bottom. The Wild spread before them, foreboding and unknown. Grasping the vibrant memory of Núnhel's green hills, Aira followed Dairon into the darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>SN (Story Notes)**

-Hísimë: The eleventh month of the year. On a modern calendar, it includes the days between 22 October and 20 November.

-Narvinyë: the first month of the year. On a modern calendar it runs from 23 December to 21 January.

-Orfalch Pass: A region located south of the Old Forest Road, upon the feet of the Misty Mountains. It is located near a tributary of the River Gladden, but relatively far from the marsh where Isildur died. Its city is heavily fortified and ruled by the family Thôrhenn.

Side note: By calling the encompassing region Rhovanion, I am not stating this area still exists as a functioning country. Elrîn's family does not rule Rhovanion, only the small territory Orfalch Pass.

-The Orfalch Pass is ruled by Lady Aníran of the house Thôrhenn. She was married to a Dúnedain man from Eriador (one of Aragorn's people). Her two daughters are Faelin and Elrîn, the mother of Aira.

-"There is a far older cause of Indûrion sorrow…before the darkness on Gondor." _More to come…_


	4. Bonds

**Chapter Four: Bonds**

_"The bond that links your true family is not one of blood,_  
><em>but of respect and joy in each other's life."<em>  
><em>-Richard Bach<em>

**Núnhel, Anórien, Gondor**  
><strong>(Feb. 11th) 21st Nénimë, 3007.<strong>

Tawny tresses shot with silver tumbled down the front of Selethryth's brown dress, swaying as she bent forward. On the floor, a little boy reached for a hair strand, yanking it hard. She scooped him up and freed herself from his chubby hands.

"Naughty imp," she chided. "I will pardon you for now, till you grow too big for my lap."

"Just like his father. He pulled braids until girls began to beat him up," murmured Ilfrith.

Aira smirked to herself, attempting to focus her concentration beyond the conversation. She shut her eyes against the dimness of the room, seeking the pale blue light of the window. Latticework of frost patterns framed the opening, glowing dully against the stone. Selethryth cooed to the child, bouncing him gently upon her knee.

"Your brother has such sweet boys."

"He won't have any further children. He is mad with grief since his wife died at Rhosfein's birth," said Ilfrith in soft voice.

She swung her blonde hair over her back, and rose to her feet. She placed a peat log upon the dimming hearth, and reclaimed her seat. The flames' gold light danced across the floor, fringing the area near Aira's feet.

"I understand his grief. I lost my firstborn. Our family has lost too many children," replied Selethryth.

"I will not let Marhath run off with Rhosfein too," said Ilfrith. "He disappeared with Ramloth and his sheep into the mountains last year. I have not seen my nephew since."

"Will you take him to Pelargir?" asked Aira, her voice distant.

The girl remained stalwart and fixed to the window, her attention lost beyond the house. Ilfrith studied the tidiness of Aira's clothes, and the straightness of her back.

"Yes. I doubt Gaearon and I will have time for our own children. He spends most of his time at sea."

Aira shifted her weight, scooting her feet closer together. "At least he will have stable parents."

Raising an eyebrow, Ilfrith glanced at Selethryth. The older woman sighed, her gaze wandering to Aira's back.

"Your parents' happiness had little chance before they met," replied Selethryth. "At the beginning, they were struck by those who believe Gondor's blood should be kept pure. These individuals are responsible for atrocities like the attack on Herindol, and the Kin-strife."

"My mother is Northern Dúnedain, there is no difference," murmured Aira, remaining in place. "These divisions among Men keep us weak."

_Yet Arcúnalin grows more divided by the year._

Ilfrith put aside her sewing once more, and flexed her fingers fretfully. She leaned closer to her Aunt, her voice low. "Gaearon is descended of the same house. Will that cause us problems too?"

Rolling her eyes in response, Aira shut her ears against further conversation. Her nerves were already frayed, and she didn't want to hold anything against the anxious girl.

"No, your situation is different. His mother Emmelin is from Dol Amroth, and your betrothed does not carry inherited titles," answered Selethryth. "Such purists are rare, or hide in holes like Haranór."

The infant snatched at the woman's hair again, drawing her attention away. Noticing the other girl's further withdrawal, Ilfrith stalked to the windowsill and tapped her shoulder.

"What is it?"

Aira's mouth tightened in reaction, holding in words. Spheres of grey stillness met her own, startling her with their eager patience. A draft emanated from the window, sending chills into their spines. Swiftly Ilfrith snapped the shutters closed.

"You ran here at top speed. Now you spend the day staring like a caged animal out the window. What's wrong?"

"Ilfrith," said Selethryth in a sharp tone. "Come get the boy, he's sleepy."

The older woman brought her nearer, offering the infant to her. Rhosfein's greedy hands clutched at Ilfrith, gurgling with delight. Selethryth led her from the room, closing the door.

"Is she waiting for my father?" asked Ilfrith.

"She was not looking for Marhad, but my son Thurstan." Selethryth paused in the corridor, smoothing Rhosfein's hair with a palm.

"I thought him gone since Yestarë, on a hunting venture with your family. She did not mention him at all."

The other woman mumbled low. "Thurstan was here when Aira arrived last month. It seems easy for him to forget the years she spent under our roof. He made comments regarding her grown stature and kissed her cheeks. My son is a good man, but his judgment remains untested with women. I sent her to Marhad after witnessing it. Her virtue is safer under your roof."

"Do you have so little faith in her?" asked Ilfrith, gritting her teeth.

Selethryth frowned. "I have much faith in her, but I know my son. Aira is reserved, and rarely shows her inner convictions. Since their encounter, she shows ardent desire for him. I have not seen it before. "

"Aira and I were raised alongside Men for years. We remain free of troubles with them," said Ilfrith.

"Niece, men can see you as the woman you are," said Selethryth, guiding her to a nearby room. "Your pretty baubles and fine dresses keep them in place, demanding space and respect. You worked well with these tools and chose the right man. Aira has placed herself on a different route, with ambition to find respect among them."

Ilfrith placed the boy upon a table, pulling carefully at the ties on his clothing. She made a face at the boy, and squeezed his cheeks

"Had my health allowed, I would've chosen her lot. The freedom she can gain by it—"

"With your Rohirrim mother, I would not have been surprised," said Selethryth, chuckling.

After checking the diaper cloth for cleanliness, Ilfrith refastened Rhosfein's garments. "Ah, there's a good boy," she cooed.

"The route of strength is precarious. It can guarantee equal treatment, or feed a vulnerable sheep to wolves. I hope both of you will be able to protect yourselves on either route as a woman."

"I will be married soon," said Ilfrith flatly. "I will no longer face uncertainty with men."

The older woman shook her head. "Dear lady, it is only the beginning. This is a world of men, but we hold the reins. It is always our responsibility to guide other women."

"How so?"

"Well, Aira is emotionally vulnerable since her grandmother's death, so I moved her to your father's house. If she and my son wish to pursue one another, they will do so under Marhad's watch. You would do the same for any daughters you might bear."

A chorus of voices flooded the adjoining corridor, breaking the quiet of the house. The door to the other room flew open, followed by rapid footfalls. Ilfrith peered out of the nursery, watching a banner of chestnut hair fly past. She followed noiselessly in her slippers, and reached the entrance hall. Her cousins bobbed in enthusiasm, chattering to the welcoming girl. Thurstan seized Aira by the middle, stumbling in awkward movements. Her laughs rang into the rafters, her icy aloofness melting away.

"Easy," said Carnastir. "Lest she snap in two."

Thurstan ignored his brother's remark, squeezing Aira's waist once more. Carnastir spotted Ilfrith across the hall, acknowledging her in solemn courtesy.

.-.-.-.

"Hup!"

Thurstan's voice reached across the field, self-assured and urgent. He gained solid footing on the turf, increasing his speed. Aira's hair unraveled further out of its pins, the wind whipping it wildly. Cool air streamed into her gulping mouth, swelling her throat with dry air. She sprinted to the looming rowan tree, pumping her legs faster. It cast long shadows across the wilted yard, reaching its barren branches towards the setting sun. She halted at top speed before the trunk, reaching for it in triumph. Her cloak yanked her backward, Thurstan grasping it tightly. He smacked the bark, and thrust the girl in the opposite direction.

"You lose!"

Struggling against his grip, she indignantly tried to free herself. She twisted in his direction, punching him good naturedly. Thurstan jabbed her in defense, mercilessly poking her in the ribs. She laughed and tried to avoid his touch.

"I thought we—were—gah!"

He pulled away the cloak, easily reaching her sensitive areas. She bent over in defense, attempting to kick him. She gasped in non-stop laughter, unable to breathe properly. Her urge to fight grew. She needed to flip him over, to fall on top and make him beg for mercy. He pulled her tighter against him, until she could no longer struggle. His cheek rested next to her ear, his breathing soothing her nerves. Her fists opened in surrender.

"No more please," she begged.

Thurstan pressed his cheek next to her ear, whispering. "I promise, but do not punch me again."

"I can't promise," she replied wryly.

Stumbling from his embrace, she attempted to straighten her displaced clothing. She stared at the sky for several moments, gathering her wits. His tawny hair was splayed across his head, and his bright eyes gleamed. Meekly she tightened her belt, realizing the tussle had allowed him access to her bare skin. Cold air reacted against the blood pumping in her veins, reddening her cheeks. Thurstan studied her intently, absorbing every movement she made. His face radiated charisma and passion, contrasting against her memories of him as a boy. Disquieted by his focus, she approached him with caution.

"You said there's a birthday present hidden here. Was it just a trap?"

"No, I have a present for you."

She tilted her head questioningly, and he grinned. He maneuvered her towards the tree, and made her place both hands over her face. Impatient, she stared at the insides of her hands, trying to make out details in the cracks of her fingers. The outline fumbled in the apex of the tree, where the trunk split into several sections. The rustling of material reached her ears, and she shifted testily.

"Can I look?"

"Yes."

Thurstan grasped her palms, and slid a bulky item into them. The bundle was sturdy, and covered in thick red cloth. Aira quickly removed the wrapping, revealing a pair of stirrups in the center. She traced the edges, the metal glinting dully in the fading sunlight. Memories of an inquisitive brown colt floated to the surface of her mind, trickling happiness into her veins. Clutching the stirrups to her chest, she gazed at Thurstan with appreciation. His bright eyes were very close, regarding her with fascination. She became all too aware of her flushing cheeks, clammy hands, and wild hair tumbled around her face.

"Thank you," she said softly.

The rest of her words caught in her throat, too thick to extract. He stroked her flushed cheek, fingertip roaming to her chin. It traced the underside of her lip, spreading rivulets of warmth into her chest. A rising urge surfaced in her, propelling her to him. Their mouths met in disjointed fashion, seeking to meld together. Unsure of placing her mouth, she pushed harder and soaked him in. Thurstan grasped her to his chest, nearly making her drop his gift. Their knees knocked together, his wiry frame wrapped around her.

Their fervor surged, making them oblivious to the cold. He kneaded her back, beginning to wander to other places. Their stance pushed her against the tree, trapping her against him. The newfound sensations were dizzying, the closeness overwhelming her. Needing space, she loosened her grip and pulled away. Her chest rose in erratic rhythm to gain more air. He drew reassuring patterns on the base of her neck, dark eyes full of her. She smiled and traced his cheek.

"I like this present too," she said mischievously.

"I know it wasn't as nice as the stirrups—"

He stole another kiss, nipping her lips in play. She laughed loudly, and flushed deeper red. The tree trunk pressed further into her backside, the entrapment making her fidget. Seeking a distraction, she lifted the gift in his direction. Thurstan stepped back, allowing her to fold the stirrups away. A thick mesh of unspoken words stuck between them, filling the space beneath the rowan's branches.

"I wasn't sure what you liked," said Thurstan. "Father mentioned you'll receive a horse at eighteen years old next year. It seemed appropriate."

Her expression brightened, and she said softly, "It means a lot you remembered my birthday. My family did not."

"They are busy with themselves," he said, causing her to grimace.

"I remember this was the last place I saw you—before you left," she said, twisting a corner of her cloak.

"I had no choice in the matter, I needed to train."

"But you could've trained here instead of Daerost."

"You know better," he replied. "I do remember saying goodbye. You pitched an impressive fit, climbed this tree, and refused to come down."

"When you tried to fetch me, I tried to hit you and fell out of the tree," she said, raising an eyebrow. "It hurt very badly."

Hesitating, she rolled up the shirt sleeve, revealing a scar beside her elbow. Thurstan bent over her limb, examining the skin.

"Wow, it left quite a mark. I never saw you cry until then, even when Hallas left."

Lowering the shirt, she sighed. "I didn't cry from the pain of the wound. I—when I saw you a month ago, I almost didn't recognize you. When you smiled, I knew it was you."

Thurstan shifted uncomfortably, bowing his head. He ruffled his hair messily, turning his face away. "Aira, you sound like a lovesick puppy."

"It's true! I missed you very much."

"How much experience do you have with men?" he said sharply.

Taken aback, she stared at him wide-eyed. "Why do you care about my past experience?"

"Don't misunderstand. I am only concerned this is too for you to handle. I assume with your background in the male profession, you've learned a few things about us. I don't want to hurt you."

"Have I kissed a man? Yes. Have I let him between my legs? No. Have I seen all sorts of provocative displays? More than you can imagine," she replied flatly. "I am not deaf, blind, or dumb to the ways of men. I am old enough to be with you."

"I hope you're not mistaken."

She tilted her head in curiosity, studying the stern lines in his forehead. "Why would I be?"

"A lot changes in seven years," he murmured. "I would hate to cause something unpleasant."

"Stop it. If you're so worried, why did you kiss me?" she asked, throwing her hands in the air.

"I am concerned, because I care about you. You're beautiful; it's why I kissed you."

He seized her free arm, stepping beside her. Aira's heart leapt in surprise, beating wildly at his nearing presence. Thurstan gripped her waist tight, melding his lips to hers. At sunset, they returned to the Caeadan estate, and the watchful eyes of Marhad.

.-.-.-.

Clear light cascaded through the chamber's long windows, spilling over the group nearby. Ilfrith's hair blazed like white flame, her head tilting left and right. She twisted at the waist, watching the woman and measuring device behind her. Aira remained frozen in place, lost in the sight of waving green leaves out the windows.

"Please stop fidgeting," said the stooped woman.

"Where will the rear embroidery be?" said Ilfrith, pausing.

Heaving a sigh, the woman lifted the hem in her direction. The younger apprentice at Aira's side ignored the activity, continuing her diligent snipping. The process continued in an endless flurry of fabric. Insistent aches began to develop in her feet, increasing her restlessness.

Patience waning, Aira spoke at last. "Ilfrith, why such fuss? This is the third day of our standing here. I think I am growing roots to this floor."

"Everything needs to be perfect."

"The gowns for the joining ceremony are finished already," said Aira. She motioned to the table, where large cloth bundles stood.

The other woman rolled her eyes. "These new dresses are for the procession and post-celebration."

"Ilfrith, this is beyond reason."

"Are you changing your mind?" she retorted.

She spun in Aira's direction, making the seamstress curse her. A looming silence threatened the space between them, filling with the sounds from the working women.

"Of course not. I will represent your family at the ceremony, but I do not deserve it."

"Nonsense!" said Ilfrith, stamping a foot. "You are my closest kin next to Aunt Selethryth."

"By bond, not blood."

Weight dropped into Aira's stomach, memories threatening to surge forth. _Aníran's lifeless countenance, Iradan's explosive anger over her military training, the retreating backs of her brothers leaving her alone in Núnhel…_ She blinked hard, and forced herself into a neutral expression.

"You forget Deor," chided Ilfrith.

"My great-grandfather?"

"Yes. He was my great-grandmother's brother. Therefore we are cousins anyway."

"You put too much thought into this," said Aira, smirking. "I haven't examined the facets of my family tree, nor do I wish to."

"You ignore yours entirely, titles and all. I don't understand it. If I had—"

"Ilfrith, you are marrying Gaearon, my nearest cousin. My family tree will become yours too, and you may keep it."

The woman fell silent, lost in thought.

"Maybe Gaearon and I should have many children."

Late in the afternoon, they were freed of the seamstresses' tyranny, and left alone in the chamber. Ilfrith glided across the floor in her chemise, darting to the tables. She unwrapped the awaiting bundles, her excitement released in erratic noise.

"Oh my! Oooh!"

She held up an elaborate pale red gown, examining the stitching with discretion. She peered through an outstretched sleeve, nodding in approval.

"This one is yours. They did a fine job."

Aira stared at the garment, gauging Ilfrith's expression. She walked over slowly, touching the material in hesitation.

"It's pretty. They added a lot of decoration."

The woman thrust it forward, stepping closer. "Try it on."

The blazing enthusiasm in her movements said not to argue. Surrendering to her will, Aira donned the tent of fabric. Her movements were encumbered and slow, trying not to rip the seams. She began to tighten the laces, but the neckline remained dangerously low on her chest. She tugged in confusion, attempting to cover the edge of her cleavage. Ilfrith slipped on a gown with ease, and turned to watch the struggle. Next, Aira fidgeted with the sleeve corners enveloping her elbows. The embroidery made it hard to grip, and the dress outline defied her.

"It's supposed to sit that way," said Ilfrith. "It's the latest fashion."

"But you can see my—form very clearly. I feel naked."

Giggling, Ilfrith patted her shoulder with affection. She maneuvered the girl to a full mirror, and began making minor adjustments. She cinched several laces tighter, and let down Aira's hair. She passed a comb to her, and wandered to the table of accessories. Aira stared at herself in awe, examining every inch of her reflection. The comb was slippery, catching painfully as she worked on tangles.

The female in the mirror seemed older, her features unrecognizable. The grey eyes were persistent and watchful, shielded against her penetrating stare. An unwelcome bump had developed in the bridge of her nose, and her skin remained ruddy from the sun. The planes of flesh were refining with time, into an acceptable sight. The red dress accentuated pink hues in her skin, and hugged her frame in the right places. Pride began to overtake her doubt and ill ease. Her mind strayed from the mirror, wondering how others might see her.

Would his dark eyes fill with that burning hunger and focused stillness? She saw the look more frequently now, when he yanked at the limits of her clothing and felt his desire against her hips. She responded with equal enthusiasm, but he always broke off their embraces. If he could easily see her female shape would he finally act on the impulses? Would he find fault with the hard muscles and sun ripened skin beneath her clothes?

Ilfrith called her name, interrupting the reverie. "Do you like the dress?"

A knock came at the chamber door, followed by Marhad's entrance. The dresses surprised him, and he beamed at their exhibition. The female pair marched around him, showing the fullest extent of the garments.

"Worth every coin," said Ilfrith. "I will do Gaearon justice in them."

Marhad nodded, examining one of the dress sleeves. "It is enough. Others will not point at you and think only of a farmer's daughter."

"I have rarely worn such a fancy thing," said Aira, lifting the skirt.

"You would run about with Melle as a child, and maim your clothes. Selethryth did not dare dress you up."

"I should have behaved better," she replied, laughing. "Why should anyone judge Ilfrith less by her gowns?"

"They judge my house, not Ilfrith," said Marhad. "They do not understand why my ancestors traded war and nobility for peace and farming." The man waved further questions away, and slid a letter into Aira's hands. "This arrived an hour ago. The messenger is waiting in the kitchen, if you wish to send a reply."

Marhad glanced at her in solemnity, and allowed Ilfrith to pull him away. Aira studied the stamp upon the wax seal, recognizing the rearing deer beneath a multipoint star. The paper weighted in her hands like lead, and coldness seeped into her body. Dreading the words, she unfolded it carefully. She recognized the narrow scrawl of her father's handwriting.

_To our daughter Aira,_

_The Caeadan sent word of your arrival in winter. Tuilérë passed long ago, yet you remain absent from our home. We resolved all conflict pursuant to your departure from Rhovanion, and sent for your belongings. There is much news to discuss, and events to plan after your long absence. Hallas will marry Gweneth daughter of Kiril after the harvest. All of us will proceed to Pelargir for Gaearon's marriage to Ilfrith Caeadan in several weeks. Make haste to Haemuin and join us immediately. Send word when you receive this post. Innas nîn no caro._

_Your parents,  
>Iradan Indûrion and Elrîn Thôrhenn<em>

_Haemuin, Arcúnalin. Second of Lótessë, in the year three thousand seven of the Third Age. _

The formality and demands left a bad taste in her throat. Her trembling fingers seized the edges of the letter, and tore it through the middle. She spun to Marhad, flashing him the ripped note.

"Please have the messenger return this to Haemuin."

"Aira, do you mean to break ties with your family?" he asked.

He slipped the letter away, studying the shredded edges. She fixated on the floor, refusing to look at him.

"I don't know."

"Those bonds are not broken so easily."

She frowned and pivoted to the door, leaving without further answer.

.-.-.-.

The faint scuffs of leather on stone emanated over the window ledge, all too familiar. A dark shape flitted though the garden as Aira watched. Her mouth slipped into a lazy smile, her lips swollen and tingling. Her skin twinged on her shoulder, where a discoloration began to flower. Warm drafts of air seeped into the room, brushing the exposed skin of her frame. She tightened the displaced fastenings on her nightgown, and replaced the shutters against the imminent dawn. Shivering in remembrance, she turned for her bed. Fissures of dim light smeared the adjacent wall, setting an unearthly glow to the chamber. She gathered the discarded bedding, arranging a comfortable formation on the mattress. She settled into the nest, attempting to recall every movement made the past few hours. Her hand stroked her hip bone, attempting to recall where he'd kissed her first. A sharp voice broke the stillness, snapping the night's excursion out of her mind.

"Aira!"

She moaned in frustration, watching the door open to admit Ilfrith. Aira tensed at her appearance, heart thudding deep.

_Had Ilfrith seen him?_

Candlelight illuminated the darkness, flickering patterns against the pale face. Aira shuffled upward in bed, making an effort to appear disturbed and sleepy.

"Ilfrith?" she mumbled in a convincing tone. "What are you doing?"

Rushing forward, Ilfrith jutted the candle onto her nightstand and threw the shutters open.

"You must get up now, life depends on it."

Lumbering onto sore legs, Aira rubbed her knees and stretched. Ilfrith shoved a mantle and slippers into her arms. Unease grew in her belly, every movement demanding extra effort to lift leaden limbs. She averted her face, swallowing hard.

"What do you mean?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

Ilfrith pulled her through the door, muttering incoherently. "You'll see."

The foyer opened empty and still around them, their steps echoing ten-fold in the empty house. Aira managed to free herself at the staircase edge, gripping the woman's elbow. She pulled Ilfrith to a halt, staring at her fiercely.

"Why are you upset?"

Ilfrith retracted her arm, pale eyes studying her. They regarded each other with questions, daring the other to speak first.

"I woke you up for another reason. Yes, I saw Thurstan sneaking out of the house. Marhath would escape the same way when he was a boy. I did not wake you up because of it. T'is none of my business, unless you are with child," said Ilfrith flatly.

Aira gaped at her, struggling for words. "No, we haven't-"

"I don't want to know!" said Ilfrith. Her jaw tightened, and she blew air in exasperation. "Shut up and follow me."

They marched along the stairs in silence, finally reaching the far corner of the main hall. Two figures emerged into sight, sprawled onto benches outside the servant entrance. The nearest person reacted first, a lanky young man, whom Aira recognized as Anborn. His dark hair hung scraggly over his rugged face, which was plagued by worry. He rose to greet them, seeming not to recognize Aira. A moment later, his mouth widened.

"Air—Lady Aira?"

She looked back and forth between the man, Ilfrith, and the second bench, where a girl lay sleeping. The girl was no older than fourteen, and completely oblivious to their presence. Anborn bowed in proper acknowledgment, and cleared his throat.

"I did not realize you were here."

The apprehension from her confrontation with Ilfrith vanished, replaced by deepening confusion. Aira tilted her head, studying him closer.

"Why are you here?"

Anborn's forehead creased, seriousness overwhelming his expression. "Milady, I am part of Lady Elrîn's escort."

Her mother's name collapsed her composure, renewing her anxiety. "Go on," she said.

"Lady Elrîn departed Haemuin several days ago, with few to attend her. I formed part of the guard. Our party reached Caras Gwathel yesterday. On the outer border, we were ambushed by outlaws. They plundered our goods, and killed the other men."

Blunt pain began to gnaw at the bottom of Aira's stomach, and her chest tightened. "What of my mother? Why was she traveling into Núnhel?"

"To see you it seems," he said, voice inaudible. "She directed us here, without explanation. Last I saw her, a throng of men carried her away. I was thrown by my horse during the ambush and knocked unconscious. It is the only reason I survived. I did not understand why they would take her, until I awoke."

He gestured to the sleeping girl, and pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket. He lowered his face, handing it to Aira.

"They spared Elrîn's lady-in-waiting. I found her wandering the hills nearby, carrying this note."

Aira fingered the crumpled and dirt stained edges, holding it warily. It was framed by brown splatter, dried blood. Clearing her throat, she read it aloud.

"To the ignoble Indûrion and subjects therein, Lady Thôrhenn is my prisoner. Should you wish to see her return, proper ransom must be paid. You will forfeit five chests full of gold, five of silver by the next full moon. Send it in the hands of a maid to Axantur Brêthand's tomb. Folly of rescue, ambush, or late payment will hasten her doom. Heed these words wisely. The esteemed thief, Master Agarcam."

They stared in disbelief, watching Aira crumple it in disgust.

"This man is ridiculous to think he can withstand Arcúnalin in her might. Lord Iradan would send the entire force to secure her release," said Anborn, striking his arms outward.

Ilfrith wrenched the note away, examining it. "Might is useless in games with these men. They play in secrets and shadows. Elrîn would be dead before they reached her."

"He has thought far ahead," he replied. "It will take days to pursue ransom or military support, narrowing the window to five days. I came to the house of Caeadan first, in hope they could act first. I did not realize they are only farmers."

Aira glared at the pair, punishing their words. "Do not damn our actions before we begin. My mother will return alive."

"Cousin—"

She silenced Ilfrith with another harsh look. Their doubt began to plague her thoughts, sending her mind reeling. She needed her mother's indomitable voice and knowing embrace; maternal love to quiet the dying screams in her memories, and the void in her spirit. She searched the letter's words for ideas, but her faith began to falter. The older Caeadan would not return from trading within two days. Her father would take longer, being unprepared and farther away. This situation demanded haste and stealth, not strength. Aira stiffened with new purpose, forbidden notions dangling in her mind.

"I will send one of the servants to notify Arcúnalin. Ilfrith, you will ride to Calceryn to fetch your father and the others," she said.

"Of course."

"Aren't you riding to Arcúnalin with me?" asked Anborn.

"You and I are riding to see Axantur Brêthand," she answered.

Ilfrith's eyes widened in horror. "You will not!"

"Yes we are," replied Aira. "If I do not succeed, then our kin shall."

"If you fail, your father will pay ransom for two, or recover your bodies."

"Any plan will be immensely dangerous, without hope of success," said Anborn sternly. "However, I am bound to the commands of your family."

Aira breathed in sharply, and flexed her wrists. She could not fathom the limits of her birth right. Youth and her purposeful isolation had spared her the majority of its use. Most comrades in arms counted her their equal; less if they counted gender against her.

"Anborn, I have no right to waste a life. I will not force you to come."

"I'd be foolish to not accompany you," he said.

"You must wait for our fathers," said Ilfrith. "You need more than two people."

"Thurstan may help us. In the end, fewer people may give us a greater chance."

"I wish I could join you, but I have to find Marhad," said Ilfrith softly. "Promise you'll come back safely."

"I promise," said Aira.

They departed the Caeadan estate within the hour, going their separate ways. Despite the insurmountable task ahead, Aira and Anborn left together. They hurried along the road to Thurstan's house, the burgeoning morning sun at their backs. Every moment led Aira towards the blinding truth; she held her mother's life in her hands.

* * *

><p><strong>SN (Story Notes)**

-Geography notes: Arcúnalin sits along the curve of the Anduin River, next to Cair Andros. The bottom border extends to the Great West road (outside of Drúadan Forest), and cuts off near the beacon of Amon Din. Núnhel is the neighboring province. It runs from the beacon of Nardol/Drúadan Forest to the border of Rohan, along the Mouths of the Entwash. Calceryn is south of the Great West Road, encompassing the beacons and mountains south of the road.

-Family notes: Selethryth and Marhad Caeadan are brother and sister. Thurstan and Caranthir are the sons of Selethryth. Ilfrith and Marhath are the sons of Marhad. Rhosfein and Ramloth are the children of Marhath. Aira is only distantly related to the Caeadan family, and was raised in Selethryth's house as a foster child. Gaearon is the son of Emmelin and Istoan from the second chapter. Sorry for any confusion.

- Attack on Herindol: When Aira and her brothers were very young, the Indûrion estate was attacked by rebels. Aira was nearly killed in the attack, but her guardian Kiril (Amlaith and Gweneth's father) saved her. These rebels were not happy with the fact Aira's parents and grandparents both married non-Dúnedain people. They don't like Iradan.


	5. Rescue

**Chapter Five: Rescue**

_"We're our own dragons as well as our own heroes,_  
><em>and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves."<em>  
><em>-Tom Robbins<em>

The wagon wheels creaked over each bump in the road, filling the swelling silence. They avoided countless ruts sunk into the earth, swinging movements playing with the balance of their burden. When the route flattened, Aira relaxed on the bench seat, allowing Thurstan to slide close. He covered her with his arm, keeping her snugly in place.

"I can take over if you wish," he said.

"No thanks," she replied, giving him a cynical look. "I'm surprised you didn't ride with the others."

"Don't be sour. I couldn't leave you alone in these circumstances."

"I can handle driving a wagon."

"I wasn't talking about the damn wagon," said Thurstan. "Why are you trying to prove yourself with this rescue?"

"I'm not trying to prove myself."

He nudged her in the side, pushing for an answer. "I don't believe that."

"Thurstan, it's my mother. My only choice is to help."

"You repeatedly refuse to acknowledge your family's existence for years. Now, you're running off to Elrîn's rescue. Something changed."

"I don't have ulterior motives," she said, staring straight ahead.

"You intend to return home. You've been thinking about it since you left Rhovanion. This is your excuse to home with dignity, without bowing to anyone."

She flinched and tried to pull away, without success. Her thoughts endlessly tangled, losing her concentration in them.

"My grandmother made me promise to deliver her effects," she said softly. "If my mother dies before I fulfill my oath, then I am pathetic. There is another reason I don't want to leave Núnhel."

"I am not reason enough to stay. We are not bonded in any manner."

"Not even by our past?"

"I lost those memories when I first saw you, as a full woman. I claimed an entirely new outlook on you, on what we might accomplish."

Thurstan's voice lowered, his face growing stiff with the countenance he showed during their nights together. An expectant shiver passed between them, full of whispers in the dark. His demeanor became daunting, causing a pang of disquiet in her chest. Aira bit her lip, trying to smile. If she was truly worthy of him, she needed to return his passion.

"Is this woman wholly female, though she bears steel and blood in her hands?" she asked, half-heartedly.

"Yes. I do not require this woman to prove herself."

Their conversation grew quieter with the distance, remembrance of their nearing destination weighing heavy. At sundown, they reached the outer cleft of a valley set amongst hills. They wandered down a separate road, and paused beneath a set of low hanging trees. In the shadows of the branches, three men appeared on horseback, weapons ready. Anborn emerged first, inspecting the wagon closely. He patted the leather tarp in back, stretched across ten wood chests.

"This is convincing enough. The rocks in the chests provide enough burden to the horses. I barely recognized Lady Aira at approach. Perhaps the thieves will swoon at you in a dress and negate need for attack," he said, smirking.

"I think they would swoon better if you wore the dress," retorted Aira.

The others laughed simultaneously, lightening their outlook for a moment. Aira shifted and straightened her dress. It caught on the tips of her hands, calluses scraping on the fabric. It was threadbare and ragged, its previous owner the kitchen maid. Despite the roughness of design, it was comfortable and very hospitable for the warmer weather.

"They will hardly expect this to conceal a weapon," murmured Aira.

Two fair haired men approached their group, examining the draft horses.

"You've treated our animals well. I expect them to survive the night," said the oldest of the pair.

Thurstan rolled his eyes and leapt to the ground. "Thorolf, the monetary reward far outweighs their value. You would not have lent them otherwise."

The younger man bowed in acknowledgment to Aira. "It is an adventure worth investing in."

"I agree, Hador," said Anborn.

"Let us proceed," interrupted Thurstan.

They reviewed their plan for finality, and separated within the hour. Aira hung lanterns astride the wagon, and checked the cargo. She lifted her dress to feel the knife strapped to her leg, and lowered her neckline provocatively. She waited for the others to depart, darkness encompassing their disappearing forms. The horses started with ease, eagerly seeking continuous movement. Their hooves were dampened by the earth, and the clattering of their burden. She spent time strengthening her confidence to the level of her resolve. The countryside felt abandoned and isolating, though she knew the men were not far ahead.

Soon she spotted a pinprick of light, perched over a neighboring hilltop. It grew brighter over the hill crest, beckoning against a mass shrouded in the stars. The tower was minor in height, but outstripped the trees near its base. Its stone facade was smooth and dim in the twilight, except for a recessed front. In the front stonework, a small beacon fire sat in hollow space, burning bright. She stopped some distance away, staring with consuming intent. The tomb matched Thurstan's description exactly, affirming their looming peril. She slid to the ground with determination, and hobbled the horses to prevent their fleeing. A series of snaps sounded behind her back, causing her to whirl around. She thrust a lantern forward, exposing a strange man. His appearance was startling, and she took several seconds to regain composure. He sneered in disdain, examining her with interest.

"Who are you, wench?"

She gritted her teeth at the debasement, lowering her head in false respect. "I'm here in regards to the letter," she said, raising her voice. "Master Caeadan sent me."

The gnarls in his face loosened, and he shouted loudly. Two other men appeared on the fringes of the lantern halo, blocking all possible escape routes. Faint sounds emanated out of the encompassing trees, alerting the presence of others. The newcomers were identical in appearance, with toothless mouths and putrid stenches enveloping their clothes. Aira balked at their appearance, edging towards the wagon's backside.

Keeping her eyes lowered, she asked, "I was told to bring this in exchange for Lady Elrîn. It is for Lord Agarcam alone."

They snarled and laughed at her words, one of the twins stepping in her direction. He reached for her chest, black expectation in his expression.

"Aye, it is for Lord Agarcam, but you will be for us."

Aira purposely stumbled backward, bending into crouching position. The wagon provided moments of cover, allowing her to snatch the blade beneath her skirt. She thrust it upward into the man's throat. The others shouted in surprise, rounding the wagon edge to grab at her. The gnarled man suddenly fell dead, a brightly fletched arrow sticking out of his body. The remaining twin howled, joining the clamor of conflict rising around them. She struck him in the belly and head, knocking him over unconscious. Torchlight sprang on the ends of the clearing, and her name was called at the south side. She grabbed a concealed sword from the loaded cargo, sprinting towards the calling voice.

On the hill crest sat an outcropping of trees, echoing with angry din. Thorolf sparred awkwardly in the dimness, avoiding a weapon thrusting in his direction. Thurstan pushed him to safety, barely escaping the attacking blade. Aira flew at the pursuer, using her advantage to kill him. Thurstan stared at her in shock, mumbling words gratitude. He motioned at Thorolf sprawled on the ground, then took off at top speed. Grumbling, Thorolf accepted her help, rising to his feet with difficulty. They rushed to the tower, the man lagging behind with his twisted ankle. Their companions emerged into view, jostling each other in congratulations. Hador picked over the fallen men, suddenly jerking upward and drawing his sword.

"This one is not dead."

Anborn pulled out a length of rope to bind the man's limbs. "You forget we need him alive."

Hador grunted in agreement, and sheathed his sword. Aira helped Thorolf to sit down in the wagon, drawing the men's' attention. She gazed at Anborn, attempting to smile.

"Your arrow saved me from further harm. I am much obliged."

"I am pleased you took this one alive," he replied. "The others were killed in the struggle."

"He will not be happy when he wakes up, knowing he was felled by a woman," said Thurstan smugly.

"He is going to provide us with answers," said Anborn. "Or he will wish for the fate of his friends."

The surviving outlaw gladly provided information in exchange for his life, setting out details of Agarcam's hideout. Thorolf remained behind to guard the prisoner, and ensure his demise if they were betrayed. At dawn they set out again, traveling northwest of the kindred cities. The area was filled with farms, but few people crossed them on the road. They took turns riding in the wagon, except for Aira. She remained unseen in the cargo hold, cradling her weapon in endless anticipation. The sun spilled through the tarp edges, providing little relief to the dizzying crampedness of the space.

The enclosure trapped the daylight and her body warmth, mingling in unbearable humidity. Cheery conversation floated around the wagon front, making her painfully aware of her isolation. Beads of sweat trickled over her eyelids, further irritating them. She ignored the wood walls, too much of a barrier against the outside world. Amidst the discomfort, pangs of fear finally began to surface. She pushed back the emotion, preventing its rise. The edges primed at her eyes, threatening to spill out in salty tears.

_No one is allowed to take my family away. Focus. She will be dead if you don't. This was your idea in the first place._

Swallowing and choking on the tension in her throat, she forced it down again. The doubt collapsed into the uttermost recess of her mind, leaving a hovering relief. She repeated the effort throughout the ride, draining most of her mental energy. She bordered between sleep and half awareness, interrupted by intervals of wagon noise. The edges of sky viewable under the tarp grew dim, and the wagon began to slow. The horses trudged against muddy ground, using more effort with their haul. They pulled to a stop at sundown, Hador checking on her.

"We are ready," he said.

They pulled a short distance off road, shielded by thickets of bramble. Barely any light remained, the sky changing to a navy blue studded with stars. They grouped alongside the horses, grim faced and drained. The three men were dressed in the dead outlaws' clothing, appearing more formidable than the original owners.

"We passed the village, and entered the marsh an hour ago," said Anborn. "The hideout lies one mile beyond the next bridge."

Air gazed at him steadily. "I'm ready."

Thurstan tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and examined her expression. His brows knit together in concern, seeming to sense the war of emotions in her. She turned her head dismissively, reaching for their supply satchel.

"Food!" said Hador enthusiastically.

They shared a small dinner, going over their plans and expectations. Aira barely touched her traveler's bread, her stomach too twisted to handle it. Thurstan later helped her into the wagon cargo again. He kissed her cheek and loosely bound her wrists in rope. She tested the knots, and watched the tarp pulled overhead. This ride was more unsettling, darkness blinding her senses. When she readjusted to the sensations, they came to second stop.

A smattering of voices and the creaking of a gate reached her ears. Goosebumps raised on her arms while listening to loud discussions between her comrades and Agarcam's guards. The darkness and prisoner's information helped them pass for outlaws, and they were waved in. The three men kept their helmets on, cloaks overhead, and weapons ready. They steered onto the path beyond the walls, an abandoned farm opening before them. Most of it was derelict and overgrown, only the house remaining. Its walls were modified beyond their traditional means, wood and stone modifying it into a crude fortress. Dim light barely escaped the slatted windows, its exterior barely distinguishable against the night. Guards escorted them to the backside of the building, where a lone figure greeted them in an open doorway.

"Back from Axantur Brethand," mumbled Thurstan, keeping his voice low.

"Took you long enough boys!" The man stepped onto the pathway, showing a grizzled face with one eye. "Get this thing unloaded. Put it all in the cellar."

He dismissed the two guards to their post, and hollered instructions to the newcomers. In anticipation, he reached the wagonload first and tore the tarp off. He stepped forward eagerly at the sight of Aira, gagged and bound. His remaining eye narrowed greedily, sending a wave of repulsion down the girl's spine. She contorted her features with false confusion and fear, appearing nonthreatening. The man reached into the wagon to pull her out, and received the fury of her bound feet. Laughing in amusement, he yanked her boots and dragged her over the edge.

Aira twisted to cushion her tumble, landing hard on her right arm. Her companions surrounded the man, trying to restrain their alarm.

"She'll be locked up with the loot, till she learns some manners," he said, pointing to the building.

The outlaw barked orders, demanding the new arrivals carry their burden. Thurstan picked up unruly Aira, while Anborn and Hador struggled with a chest. They were led into a dank corridor, where a dark stairwell led to the cellar. The man withdrew a key hidden under his shirt, unbolting the door at the bottom. As they entered, Anborn purposely tripped, dropping the chest to the floor and slamming into Thurstan. The swinging chest narrowly missed Aira, and cracked open in the dark.

The outlaw roared at them, swinging wildly. "You idiots! This is our retirement payday!"

A second later, he collapsed to the ground beneath Hador's sword.

"Well that was smoother than I expected," said Anborn in surprise.

"Easy for you to say," retorted Aira.

She kicked off the ropes binding her feet, and teetered towards the fallen man. She swooped over his corpse with her fingers, searching his pockets. She found a second set of keys in his pocket, looped on an iron ring.

"Let's finish this," said Hador.

Their group separated in half to perform their separate tasks. Begrudging his duty, Thurstan led Aira up the adjacent stairs, her wrists still bound. At the end of the second story, they came upon a large door barricaded by a pair of armed men. Thurstan kept his head tilted downward, shoving Aira forward.

He lowered his voice, murmuring. "Master Agarcam's delivery."

They examined the girl closely, and knocked on the door twice. It creaked open slowly, allowing the closest man to lean inside. After a brief exchange, the guard pivoted towards Aira. He tugged her by the bicep, pushing her inside the chamber. He shoved Thurstan away, allowing the door to shut. A series of clicks emanated behind the door, indicating a series of closing locks.

Aira found herself in another chamber, grasped roughly by a strange man. He stood at her height, but his bulk expanded his mass into an intimidating sight. Overly embellished clothing restrained his form, which had expanded under years of laziness. Twisted messy scars covered the forearms restraining her, winding up to the fringe of exposed flesh around his collar. A callous smile covered his round face as he examined her.

The fear drained out of Aira's body, replaced with fury. She had feared the notion of confronting this outlaw, who had terrorized Northern Núnhel for years. Though Agarcam had grown soft in his success, a venomous strength lurked in his dark eyes. He was swine, and she would kill him.

In the hall, Thurstan scowled at the man who had pushed him. In one arm motion, he withdrew a dagger and attacked. He buried the blade into one man's side, and the other's collarbone. The guards toppled to the floor, collapsing on top of each other. Frantically he searched their pockets for keys to the door, and found none. He pounded on the wood, hoping to provide Aira with a distraction. There was a shout beyond, making his blood run cold.

Thurstan picked up a heavy sword from the dead guards, and began to hack at the door. Splintered chunks flew into the air, and the metal screeched along the hinges. His senses numbed, his entire body throwing effort into the task. Amongst the clunking blows, a whirl of acrid scents and nervous shouts filled his nose and ears.

_She is alone. I'm a fool._

The door began to sag under the assault, but did not give. His muscles strained with the effort, making time agonizingly slow. A shadow fell against the nearby wall, causing him to whirl in attack.

"Thurstan!"

His name froze the sword in mid-air, the familiar voice belonging to Anborn. Thurstan sagged in relief, motioning to the door.

"Aira is locked inside with Agarcam," he groaned. "We need to hack it down."

Anborn nodded, and pointed at the smoke curling past the nearby window. "Hador set the fires already. If we don't get her out, this building will burn down with us inside."

Wide-eyed, Thurstan charged at the door with renewed vigor. Their combined strength brought the door crashing down, allowing them to hurtle into the chamber. They stumbled over obstacles in their path, various items strewn about. They stared in astonishment at toppled furniture and the big man lying on the floor. A cascade of dark gold hair glimmered in the dark room, tumbling around the shoulders of Lady Elrîn. She knelt several feet away, bent over another prone form. The folds of her dirty dress enshrined her daughter, who lay cradled in her lap. Blood dribbled down the dagger clenched in her fist, and she raised it towards the newcomers.

"Milady, we are here to rescue you," said Anborn, snapping over into a bow. "We come from the house of the Caeadan."

Thurstan stared at the pair in horror, the sword tumbling out of his grasp. Hypnotized, he fell to his knees, glancing between the females. Elrîn slackened at recognizing him, and threw the dagger to the ground.

"I never would've expected such a party, but I am glad to see you," she said. "Where is my husband?"

Anborn exhaled loudly, his form straightening. "Milady, we came under the lead of Lady Aira."

"I assumed as much," she murmured, gazing at her daughter.

Hesitantly, Thurstan reached towards the girl, his features narrowed in pain. The brown servant's dress was torn across the hem, and drenched dark with blood. An open wound stretched over the edge of Aira's forehead, dribbling into her semi-closed eyes. Elrîn wiped away another red stream, and studied the man.

"She is alive. She took a blow to the head while fighting this monster. This blood is not hers."

Thurstan huffed in relief, reaching for a limp hand. "Let's get both of you out of here."

.-.-.-.

Grey shards of ice stared at her beneath the narrowed brow, daunting and unreadable. Iradan occupied the farther half of the banquet table, studying the Caeadan group closely. Aira returned the gaze with equal conviction, not daring to back down. The rest of her family looked lighthearted in comparison, smiling and chattering down the table with their kin. Her cousin Gaearon sat in the center with Ilfrith, gazing at his new wife in adoration. A clamor rose amongst the tables placed throughout the hall, a rowdy group of merchants saluting their comrade Gaearon with praise.

The noise drew Iradan's attention away, allowing Aira to breathe in relief. Her father constantly scrutinized her the past weeks, his hawkish eyes missing nothing in her bearing. It kept her on edge, persisting through the journey to Pelargir. He rarely spoke to her since Elrîn's rescue, keeping their discussions neutral and short. She suspected that he was searching for a hint of weakness, some fear or uncertainty he could use to change his mind.

Absentmindedly she traced over the pin attached to her belt pouch, feeling the engraved antlers and star engraved in the bronze. The soldier pin always remained securely fastened at her side, solid reassurance of the events the past few weeks. Instead of punishing her radical actions, Iradan instead publicly admitted her into the Guard of Arcúnalin. Her escapade was deliberately spread throughout their province. The victory was bittersweet at learning her father's ulterior motives, turning her defiance into a symbol of utmost loyalty. She winced at remembering Hallas' predictions about surrendering her future into the hands of their father.

Servants abruptly entered through adjacent doors, clattering into the hall with food for the wedding feast. The revelers cheered at the decorative platters, clinking their silverware in anticipation. Dinner passed quickly, shifting to dancing and singing at sundown. Hues of sapphire and gold colored the sky beyond the windows, drawing Aira from the merrymaking. The celebrations had worn out her emotions, leaving a peaceful joy inside her.

A wide veranda encompassed the entrance of the feasting hall, and led down the hillside in long staircases. The slopes fanned outward to the shoreline, where Pelargir's walls met the depths of the river Anduin. Aira sat atop the edge of a staircase, wedging her elbows onto her lap. She scanned the adjacent gardens, her observation moving to the city sprawl below. The noises of the feasting hall faded far into the background, barely audible to her perch.

"How different you look. I barely recognize you."

Not daring to lift her head, Aira inhaled in frustration at the intrusion on her solitude. Since she'd returned to Gondor, she barely had any time to herself. The intruder appeared at her side, occupying the opposite side of the staircase. She met Thurstan's gaze, waiting in apprehension for him to speak further. He remained silent, folding his arms and shifting uncomfortably in his celebration clothes.

"What is different?" she asked, daring to speak. "I wore fancy clothes in the arrival procession too."

His gaze slid across her form, studying her in silence. He lingered on her face, and the place where the dress dipped provocatively below her neck.

"I wasn't talking about your dress. I was talking about the girl underneath it."

"Underneath my dress?" said Aira, lifting an eyebrow. "So you're going to stay tonight?"

Thurstan straightened, frowning at her. "I have no intention of that."

"But you said—"

"Forget about our plans for Pelargir. I've changed my mind," he growled at her. "I meant I haven't seen this side of you yet."

"What do you mean?"

"You were confident, and stood on your own today," said Thurstan. "I am happy to see you can move on, and act normal. Not many people could recover so quickly after facing Agarcam."

She slid off her seat, placing herself in front of him. "We agreed to be together once we left Núnhel for the wedding. I have barely talked to you since my mother's rescue, and you spout nonsense the first time we're alone in weeks. What's going on?"

"A lot has changed," he murmured, staring at her.

"What did?" she asked.

"Me. The past few weeks revealed much to me. I did things-I saw you lying on the ground like you were dead. I never want to see that again."

"I wasn't dead. He barely scratched me," she replied. Impulsively she traced the scab along the side of her scalp, barely noticeable under the hair.

"You were hurt because of our romping about like fools. I have been leading you around too much, unchecked and wild."

Aira frowned back at him. "Influencing me? I initiated the rescue, and let you into my bed. I am capable of saying no. I am grown, and capable of handling my own safety. You haven't mentioned any doubts until now. Our attack on Agarcam went very close to its plan. I refuse to believe that's bothering you. Thurstan, if my acting normal at a party has driven you mad, then something's wrong."

He stepped closer, hovering near her frame and gazing at her face. His eyes burrowed into hers, shadowed by pain. Aira's demeanor softened and she cupped his cheeks in her hands.

His voice lowered, slowing with the depth of his emotions. "You stood very close to Ilfrith, almost in the center of the wedding gathering. I could almost see you standing there instead of her. But, it wasn't me at your side. A noble lord would claim you beneath those flowering boughs, not me. He would be titled, bearing a great sword and name."

"Thurstan, I never expected that of you," replied Aira. "I wasn't trying to lure you into my bed so you'd be forced to marry me."

"If we had completed the deed, it would be a very real threat. We shouldn't be chained to each other in shame."

His stance betrayed the conflicting emotions inside him. Her arms dropped to her sides, breaking their intimate connection. This discussion was becoming clearer, and she didn't like it.

"Who found out about us? Elrîn? Caranthir?"

"Uncle Marhad," said Thurstan flatly. "He gave me two options. Either I approach Iradan for permission, or end this."

Aira's muscles tightened, growing dread threatening to conquer her mind. "What did you decide?"

"I don't want to mislead you, Aira. I don't think we can go any further," muttered Thurstan, barely looking at her.

"I had a feeling," she replied, her chest tightening with shallow breaths. "I waited for you to tell me what was going on, but you refused."

"You see, I met someone I _can_ be with," he murmured. "I can see brighter things on the road with her."

Her resolve snapping, Aira plunged her fist into his face. He stumbled from the blow, crashing onto the veranda tiles. His actions were now obvious, and laid bare for her scrutiny. Their time together was warm and intimate, but it was pure lust. He had grown sick waiting for her to mature, and sought someone else. Their relationship hadn't flowered into passion, only novel and mutual pleasure they couldn't fully handle. It was possession, not love. Her stupidity sickened her.

She tried harder to restrain the tears, her voice broken as she stormed down the stairs.

"Coward!"


	6. Duty

**Chapter Six: Duty**

_"Let's have faith that right makes might;_  
><em>and in that faith let us, to the end,<em>  
><em>dare to do our duty as we understand it."<em>  
><em>-Abraham Lincoln<em>

**Egarel, Arcúnalin  
>2<strong>**nd**** of Yavannië, 3007**

"_Son, you cannot mean this."_

The tall windows brimmed with afternoon sun, flooding the antechamber with brightness. Clear sunlight filtered through the orchard trees outside, throwing dancing shadows onto the walls. Aira tried to focus on the floor, avoiding the sight in front of her. Hallas stood toe-to-toe with their father, staring him down. The pair was similar in height and appearance, staring like reflections in a mirror.

"I relinquish my captaincy and my inheritance as firstborn," repeated Hallas.

His eyes were cold as stone, his form locked in place and unmoving. Iradan seemed thinner and frail in comparison, the artifacts of his age obvious. Wrinkles etched his proud features, and grey streaks littered his hair. The sight of their weakening father disturbed Aira. If her brother had not acted, he might've become Ambatár sooner than he'd thought.

"Your abdication will fuel the madmen who threaten our family, and the peace of this region. Do you forget their swords so easily?" asked Iradan.

"Irrelevant," snapped Hallas. "I would not place my offspring in such danger. I would not force weapons into their hands, to watch them slaughtered like sheep. The name Indûrion is doomed to carnage, to be _shadowed and bled._"

Iradan's cheeks flushed red, his fury beginning to appear. "Do not use those words here. This is cowardice, stalking away with your tail tucked behind. We are born to lead and serve others, not ourselves."

"I do this for _my _family," said Hallas, clenching his fists. "If we cannot escape the darkness, a source of light can keep it away for a time. Gweneth is my light. I will not sacrifice her to this place, this family. Her father Kiril died protecting us."

Elrîn stepped to Iradan's side, her voice pleading. "Hallas, you have the strength to lead. Do not give up so easily."

Shaking his head, Iradan raised his palm upward. "I free you of all duty, to fall in your disgrace." He pointed to Imlach, who stood next to Aira. "My second son, I name you Captain of this city. I name you my heir."

On the edge of the room, an older woman stood in acknowledgment. Her simply braided hair and plain dress were out of place in the elegantly decorated antechamber, which normally hosted only family members. Iradan handed her a rolled parchment, sealed with wax.

"Elder Mabyn, place this into the archives."

"I have witnessed this according to the laws of our land," she replied, her tone flat and obedient.

"_It will not be undone..."_

The Elder twisted the length of ribbon, crossing it over Hallas and Gweneth's wrists. He mumbled almost incoherently, occasionally stumbling over the ceremonial text. The couple remained focused on each other, unwavering in their attention. The boughs of Culumalda trees entwined in arches over their heads, still thick with summer foliage.

A single leaf escaped, floating onto Aira's shoulder. She shifted uneasily to brush it off, distracting herself from the recent memory. She ignored the rest of the old man's words, trying to forget her suspicions. Despite the fact he was Gweneth's grandfather, he served Iradan on the Council of Arcúnalin and she didn't trust him. The rest of their families would hear every detail of the wedding, down to color of the bride's dress.

Noticing her fidgeting, Imlach meaningfully nudged her with his boot. Studying his stark garments, she rolled her eyes and slowly edged away. On cue, Hallas and Gweneth whirled towards the gathering, beaming at each other.

Elder Gircaun lifted his arms in reverence, announcing, "Blessings upon this man and wife. May their hearts be forever joined in love."

The pair kissed enthusiastically, receiving cheers from the observing crowd. Hundreds of people filled the fields around them, some watching atop wagons, horses, and neighboring trees. Most of Egarel's townspeople were in attendance, eager to celebrate with their lord's son. They formed a long procession down the roadside, escorting the wedding party to its second location. In honor of Hallas' marriage, they had prepared an elaborate feast at a neighboring farm. Aira fell to the end of the procession with Imlach, uncomfortable from constant staring by the locals. Imlach strode silently next to her, his expression grim.

"You're acting like we're at a funeral."

Her brother sighed, watching the crowd moving ahead of them. "It feels wrong to celebrate without our whole family, especially father and mother."

Amlaith appeared beside them, matching his stride with Aira. He grinned widely, waving a gold brooch at Imlach. It had been exchanged during the wedding as a token of goodwill toward Gweneth's family. Without Iradan's knowledge, Elrîn had provided it for the ceremony. Amlaith slung his arm across Imlach's shoulder, clutching him in an awkward hug.

"Cheer up. We're brothers now. I'm lots of fun," said Amlaith.

"Terrific," mumbled Imlach, shrugging him off.

He ducked away, running away to catch up with Hallas. Dumbfounded, Amlaith jabbed Aira with an elbow.

"What's wrong with him?"

They arrived at the feast last, finding the event underway with food and bawdy excitement. Hallas and Gweneth sat at the main table, smiling cheerily at the gathering before them.

Aira leered at her brother, whispering to Amlaith. "He's paranoid. He thinks father will disown him for coming here."

Amlaith patted her shoulder, smirking. "That'd leave you the heir. I know you'd like that."

She growled at him, and pointed at the empty chair next to Gweneth and Lalaith. "Go sit next to your sister and mother."

Obliging, Amlaith trudged away and took his seat at the table. On the opposite side, Imlach grunted in acknowledgment as Aira sat down, his attention locked on the couple.

"I'm surprised Egarel put this together," she said.

"There's no escaping his name," replied Imlach sourly, lowering his face. "Indûrion heir or not, they will always latch onto him, what he represents. He would've been better off in Sarrach. Its hills are quiet and sparsely populated. Few acknowledge our name there."

Aira smiled as the newlyweds kissed again. "He wants to farm. The soil is better here, and Gweneth's father Kiril was born in Egarel."

"I forget how naive you are sometimes."

"Ugh! Imlach, what's done is done. Stop judging him for it."

"I'm over it," he muttered. "I'm actually starting to believe Hallas was right to choose love."

She raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You want to get married now too?"

"One day. I did not think I would, but I am responsible for continuing our line."

"You're only 21. That's too young."

He uncrossed his arms, and impatiently picked at the silverware on the table. "Hallas is only one year older."

"Yes, but he's the crazy one."

The feast seemed to endlessly swell with more people and festivities. Torches and music sprang up at sundown, bringing the grove to life with swirling excitement. Countless people invited them to sing, dance, and chat during the evening, eager for their attention. Aira forgot self-restraint, flowing with the warmth and rhythm of the celebration.

The music died by dawn, the locals becoming too sleepy or drunk to carry on. Hallas and Gweneth took their leave in the night, to the privacy of their farmhouse. Imlach disappeared too, wandering into town with a sprightly bar maid hanging around his neck. Though she was staying with her brother, Aira avoided the house, fearing to interrupt the newly married couple. The structure was half complete, leaving little privacy inside and out. On impulse, she slept inside the barn, waking to the squawking of farm birds in the yard at sunrise.

Vestiges of sunlight crept into the stillness of the hayloft, beckoning in the silent air around her. Straw dust clung to the fabric of her dress, refusing to dislodge itself. She half tumbled down the loft ladder, and wandered to the road, not bothering to check the farmhouse. Few people appeared in the fields for morning chores, even the farmers. She spotted many individuals scattered along the route to town, returning exhausted to their homes. The markets were closed, most of their business occupied by the wedding feast. Along the main street, she stumbled upon a brightly lit building, its door thrown open invitingly. Long windows adorned with blue shutters watched the street, and reflected the morning sunlight. A large sign dangled above the doorway, declaring the establishment an inn.

The main entrance branched into two sides, the right opening into an extensive common room. A large fireplace encompassed the other wall, fenced by rows of chairs and tables. Odd knickknacks were scattered across the space, ranging from horseshoes to dull edged swords. A wide wooden bar occupied the back half, surrounded by a forest of stools. The room was empty, minus an old man napping at a corner table, and a soldier at the bar. Avoiding the sleeping man, Aira sat at the edge of the bar, keeping distance between her and the soldier. He did not react to her presence, remaining focused on his breakfast plate.

A sheathed sword hung at his side, standard issue to Gondor soldiers. The rest of his uniform was missing, but he wore a standard brown gambeson, confirming his military status. Sensing her observation, his dark haired head swiveled in her direction. He lowered his bread roll, meeting her with a curious look. His sea grey eyes cautiously searched hers, thoughtful in their study. Against her better judgment, Aira felt her guard lower at the calmness in his gaze. The soldier rubbed a crumb caught in the stubble on his chin, and nodded in greeting.

"Good morning, my lady," he said lowly.

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, dry after spending the night in the barn. She swallowed hard and tried to reply with a polite smile. He couldn't be much older than Hallas, and she'd dealt with soldiers of the higher ranked Gondor legions. His plain sword guaranteed she would not need to worry about offending a Captain.

"Good morning, sir," she said at last.

At the sound of her voice, a loud thud emanated in the adjacent room. A middle-aged woman with unkempt hair appeared, nearly tripping over her soiled dress. She pivoted between the soldier and newcomer anxiously.

"Maeriel is your husband still passed out?" asked the soldier.

The woman grunted. "Yes. Still as drunk and useless as when your men dragged him off the street. Where are your men, Lieutenant Baran?"

"They've gone to sleep. They're taking full advantage of their time off."

"More drinking I expect," muttered Maeriel. She turned to Aira, studying her intensely. "You've probably had plenty of wine by the looks of it…rolling around in the hay with who knows."

Aira bristled at the insinuation, sealing her lips as she felt flutters of hunger in her belly. The woman exuded vibes of wild suspicion and anxiety, making her uncomfortable. Such people were loose cannons, causing trouble everywhere they went. Aira started to think she was better off searching for food elsewhere.

"Nothing of the kind, innkeeper," she replied. "If you're done talking, I will gladly pay you for a meal."

The woman hesitated, and broke into a toothy grin. "Sure, don't take offense now. I'm surprised a pretty girl like you hasn't done so. I've got an empty room upstairs if you'd like to take this one," said Maeriel, pointing to the soldier. "I hear he's a clean lad."

Seeking a distraction, Aira clutched at her belt pouch, searching for coins at the bottom. Baran slapped money loudly onto the bar, startling both females.

"I would not do such a thing," he said, frowning at Maeriel. "Stop your lewdness and fetch the girl some food. She looks like a deer ready to bolt. Refill my drink too, if you'd be so kind."

The innkeeper snatched the money and tottered to the kitchen, cackling in amusement. Baran turned to Aira, his expression brighter after the innkeeper's departure. His eyes explored hers again, steady and keen. The space between them grew thick with unspoken conversation. A shiver ran down Aira's spine, the movement in her stomach shifting. Something stirred in his face, reminiscent of the way Thurstan watched her. Her senses heightened uncomfortably, but she managed to smile with gratitude.

"Thank you, lieutenant."

"I apologize for her behavior," he responded. "She likes attention and special handling. No wonder her husband is driven to drink."

They both laughed, breaking the stillness between them. Braving the distance, Aira slid closer, leaving one stool between them.

"If you've been here before, I'm surprised you'd return."

Baran smirked, shoving his plate away. "I wonder about that myself. This is the only inn Egarel possesses. My men and I are part of the increasing patrols on the Great West Road."

"Why is that?"

"The number of thieves ambushing travelers has increased significantly. They've grown competitive in the past months, since the death of their overlord Agarcam."

Aira warmed with confidence at hearing the dead thief's name. "Oh, what happened?"

The innkeeper served their orders and avoided the common room afterward, not daring to return. The soldier remained to talk with Aira, despite finishing his meal earlier. She found it hard to keep the conversation anonymous, their talk lighthearted and easy. His manner was similar to her mentor Vîramar. She found herself telling Baran more than she would normally allow a stranger to know. Soon, the inn began to pick-up business, and they parted ways. As Aira went in search of Imlach, she realized the soldier had not asked her name.

.-.-.-.

**24****th ****of Nénimë, 3008.**

Imlach tapped his foot uneasily, his boot thudding against the floor obnoxiously. He focused on the cuff of his blue tunic, becoming overly interested in the swirls sewn on the edge. Aira passed her hand over his face once more, trying to get his attention. He refused to look up, keeping his light haired head bent downward. Aira slid her chair back in agitation, visually sweeping the room.

The antechamber remained the same as before, reminding her of last year's disastrous confrontation. They sat beneath a wide tapestry encompassing most of the west wall, its surface alive with vivid imagery of their house. The gold stag bowed to the Númenórean prince Aulendil, a crowned maiden with bright hair wielded a sword, and the ship with black sails landed upon the Anduin shore.

She grasped Imlach's shoulder, her voice sharp. "Why are we here?"

"Answer the question, Aira," retorted Imlach. He glowered at her, shifting away from her grip. "Was anyone other than Thurstan in your bed?"

"I can't believe you found out about that," she snapped. "It doesn't matter. I'm still—whole. Why are you asking?"

"Father told me to ask."

"Oh no."

The door to the antechamber suddenly opened, admitting their father. Aira whipped defensively in his direction, her fists closed tightly. They evaluated each other for a moment, and Iradan shook his head in amusement.

"Sit down, Aira."

He took the chair at the end of the table, and placed an unfurled scroll on the table before him. Obedient and suspicious, Aira reclaimed her seat next to Imlach. Iradan perused the document, then shoved it away. He motioned to her grey surcoat, made for riding horses. Her mother had presented it on her birthday, when she'd received her horse from Caranthir.

"I see you're enjoying the presents already," he said. "Eighteen is an important year."

Aira's stomach churned uneasily at the tone of his voice. "Father, what do you ask of me?"

"I have not raised a fool. You are here to discuss business." His face stiffened with purpose, becoming emotionless and official. "You are now a woman, and of marriageable age."

"My birthday was only two days ago."

"Nonetheless, I've received three offers for your hand in marriage."

Aira's jaw slackened in shock, fear throttling the words in her throat. "From…from who?"

"No one useful. A decent offer came from Captain Echgar of Caras Gwedeir, but I will not marry you to an untitled soldier."

Her knuckles were white under the pressure, her fingernails beginning to dig into the palms of her hands. Aira desperately tried to remember the officer, but could not recall anyone by that name. Unexplainably, her memory stumbled upon Lieutenant Baran, remembering every detail of his sea grey eyes and firm build.

_Why would she remember him now?_

Iradan clasped his knuckles together in thought, gazing at her with intent. "Someone such as Lord Duilin would be a suitable match. He is only eight years older than you, and heir to Morthond Vale."

"It's on the distant side of the White Mountains," said Imlach, finally speaking. "Would you send her so far?"

"I'm not being _sent_ anywhere," snapped Aira. "You cannot act without my word."

A shadow crossed Iradan's face, darkening his expression. "You will agree with whatever I ask. I can make this pleasant or very difficult. I would prefer to make this easy."

"This very idea of being married is painful."

"Aira, if you have other ideas do tell me," said Iradan. "I will allow you to marry for love under the right circumstances."

"What circumstances?" she asked hesitantly.

"If he has no titles, he must have the blood of a noble family. If he is titled, his rank will be no higher than mine. If you breed with a lowborn, I will condemn you."

The words were strange in her father's mouth, confronting in a way she'd never dealt with before. Aira narrowed her eyes, disturbed by the insinuation. She couldn't be sure if he was bluffing.

"What led to such rules and restrictions, especially on love?"

"These laws have been in place for thousands of years, Aira," he replied. "To guide and protect the direction of Arcúnalin. They are harsh, but there for a reason. I obey and enforce every single one."

Imlach tapped the table surface lightly, trying to hide a smirk. "I'm afraid little sister, you cannot marry the Steward."

She stuck out her tongue at him, and Iradan laughed gruffly. She tried to release the wary tension in her stomach, but failed. Her brother straightened in his seat, looking at their father expectantly.

"Father," said Imlach. "There should be no impediment to her marriage. Aira is still a maiden. Perhaps we should find suitable partners for both of us."

"Will Imlach be required to follow the same rules?" interrupted Aira.

She surreptitiously kicked him under the table, causing him to wince in pain. Her brother glared back, his retaliatory kick missing.

Iradan nodded, studying his daughter sternly. "When the time comes Aira, you will no longer play soldier."

Her features flattened, all emotion leaving her face. Aira rose in her chair, towering over her father. She caressed the hilt at her waist, shaking her head.

"I will never give it up."

.-.-.-.

**14th of Nárië  
>Guard Hill, Haemuin<strong>

The sounds of tableware and creaking chairs filled the air, deafening in the dining hall. The soldiers cast long shadows upon the surrounding walls, thrown about by flickering candlelight. Hints of metal gleamed at the tablesides, shining atop freshly polished hilts. Aira pushed her plate aside, looking at the other girl patiently. Melle stared into the distance, chewing slowly.

"No, I haven't seen my mother. You're the only one to visit so far."

"I saw Mabyn at my brother's abdication. I can't believe she wouldn't come to see you."

"Even the Caeadan would ignore me, if not for my Aunt Vaiya," replied Melle, lowering her fork. "You and I have very different mothers. Mine likes to pretend her 'mistake' doesn't exist. It serves her well, she's an Elder now."

"You're not a mistake!"

"Of course not, just a bastard. Maybe that's why I don't believe in the same rules other people do. I don't believe in marrying out of duty or being afraid of love. People should be free to express themselves, yet they seem incapable. By those definitions, I'm not a bastard."

"My father made it clear, Melle," said Aira. "Either I find someone, or he will."

"If he catches you even kissing someone, you think he'll act?"

"I have no idea."

"Awful. I'd hate to marry the first lad I carried on with. Not much to him really," said Melle, frowning.

"You did **that**?"

"Yes, about six months ago."

"You never said anything in your letters. Who was it?"

Melle shifted in her seat uncomfortably, looking away. "Well I'm not going to write, 'Dear Aira, how are you? Last night I had a fella leaping in my trousers.' It was some pikeman from Daerost. I doubt you'd know him either."

"Try me."

"I don't remember his name anyway. The second one has stayed around. His name's Elbor."

"Haven't heard of him."

"See? How about you? Any luck since Núnhel?"

"It was a year ago, but I shouldn't be surprised you know that," said Aira, sighing in exasperation.

"If it makes you feel better, Thurstan is driving Selethryth crazy. She's seen him sneaking around with four girls this year already."

"I don't think I want to know."

"It's not your fault. He knew exactly what he would've had," said Melle. She jabbed her fork into air in emphasis. "He could've been a lord, but the Caeadan don't want that _sort of thing_."

"And he ran. I've run too, many times."

"None of us have found anything out there yet. What are we looking for? I think they call it love. Did you find it once?"

Aira clutched the table edge firmly, her fingers tracing the pattern of the wood surface. Her stomach lurched in disgust whenever she thought about him. The notion of repeating such pain with someone else was impossible to imagine. How did people carry scars like this in their heart?

"No. I am sure love exists, but I have not looked for it. My mind was elsewhere."

"We've been bettering ourselves, becoming stronger. I am not sure if I want love. It only brings heartsickness and weakness. Look what it did to my family, my mother," said Melle sullenly.

"What will you live for Melle?"

"Duty, service. I will bow to your lord father and likely die by the sword."

"I wish the same, but I will never bow."

They regarded each other solemnly, the words bitter in their mouths. The clamor around them grew exponentially, their comrades tearing through their meals and jabbering loudly. A short soldier navigated the chaos unnoticed, stopping behind Aira and Melle. He cleared his throat and lowered his head in respect.

"Excuse me, Lady Aira. You're needed at the front gate."

Aira swiveled in her seat, scrutinizing the newcomer from helm to boots. His frame was stretched in odd proportions, causing his mail to sit awkwardly across his shoulders and belly. Despite his statue, he bore the pin of an officer.

"Lieutenant Mildir, the gates are closed," she replied. "What's wrong?"

He shifted uncomfortably and pressed a letter into her hand. The paper crinkled in her grasp, tightly folded into a neat square. Its middle was sealed tightly by honey colored wax stamped with the sigil of the Indûrion house.

"Men arrived at sunset carrying this. They insist we let them into Haemuin."

Aira deftly slid the document to her side and nodded. "I will accompany you to the gate."

She politely excused herself from Melle's presence, and followed the soldier out of the barracks. They crossed the training grounds quickly, their path dimly lit by dying sunlight. The watch towers rose high above the Tauram wall, and the gatehouse blocking the roadway. The main gate remained down, one of its small panels opened. Half a dozen soldiers encircled the opening, aiming their weapons through the portcullis. Torches blazed brightly around them, throwing long shadows onto the ground. Aira motioned the soldiers aside, stepping before the opening of the gate. On the other side stood three men, heavily armed and burdened with traveling gear.

She held up the letter beckoningly. "Which one of you carried it?"

The tallest of them stepped forward, raising his hand in greeting. His raiment was richer than the others, embroidered with golden patterns down his broad shoulders and chest. His skin was pale in the torchlight, making his blue eyes almost black in comparison. A thin brown beard cloaked his cheeks, making his age incalculable.

"I carried it, my lady."

"Who are you?" asked Aira.

"Haefuir Imangren, son of Lord Forlong of Lossarnach. This letter is for the first Indûrion I encounter."

She raised an eyebrow, instantly recognizing his name. She lowered the letter and folded it open, finding the familiar handwriting of her brother.

_By the hand of Captain Imlach Indûrion, this letter grants safe passage to Haefuir Imangren of Lossarnach and his companions. He (and those with him) is to be given shelter and passage without question. He is named ally and friend of my house. Unwelcome action by either of our houses will violate the friendship declaration of 1350._

Aira scoffed at the wording, closing the letter quickly. "He doesn't need to cite marriage treaties. I know who you are."

"I recognize you as well, Lady Aira. I never expected to find you at Haemuin's wall, armed as a soldier."

She waved her hand nonchalantly, returning the document between the portcullis bars. "Despite our mutual recognition, you must state your business. Everyone passing through the High Gate after sunset must do so, even friendly folk."

"I am here to see my friend Imlach, at his invitation," replied Haefuir, shifting wearily. "I underestimated the journey here, and we need lodging tonight. Otherwise, I would have stayed at the previous town."

"Good enough."

Stepping back, Aira waved commands at the battlements above. The gate swung open and the portcullis lifted, clacking loudly on its chains. She dismissed her fellow soldiers, and led the newcomers out of the gatehouse to Guard Hill. Its training area lay across the top, densely populated with fences, sheds, and proving grounds. The barracks sprawled beyond, its grey walls stretched into an open rectangle. At its center stood the keep, several times higher than its surroundings.

Few soldiers stood at its entrance, only officers and commanders allowed inside. Aira showed the accompanying men into empty quarters, and led Lord Haefuir into an adjacent room. The space was well furnished and prepared with fresh linen. Her guest studied the layout with approval, and collapsed wearily onto the edge of the bed.

"This is quite suitable."

Aira occupied the wooden chair opposite the bed, and faced him. "I thought you might prefer separate quarters. New guests must stay here before they are allowed to stay on Herindol."

"So you'll be questioning me?"

"Only a little."

Haefuir smirked at her knowingly, hiding the weariness in his face. Aira paused for a moment, trying to read him clearly. He seemed vaguely familiar, but she could not recall meeting him before. His eyes were deep and unreadable, masking his emotions. Visitors in Haemuin were not uncommon, but most were kin or lived north of the White Mountains. His presence was suspicious, and she wouldn't easily trust him, even as a family friend.

"Have we met before?" she asked.

"Not exactly," replied Haefuir. He shifted on the bed, and began to untie his boots. "I was at the wedding of your cousin Gaearon. Your family was pointed out to me."

"I think there were at least five hundred people," said Aira, shrugging.

"Likely more. I must admit, you're not quite what I remember."

"What were you expecting?"

He lifted an eyebrow, glancing at the sword sheathed on her side. "I remember a much younger girl in a fancy red dress, dancing freely with flowers in her hair. I did not expect a grim woman hardened by sweat and steel."

"I rarely wear skirts anymore," said Aira, smiling.

"And not so grim when you smile," replied Haefuir.

Aira restrained the urge to roll her eyes, and kept smiling. "There are rumors Lord Forlong is inhumanly large, and cannot ride a horse. I expected his son to be twice the normal height."

Haefuir laughed loudly, and leaned back on the bed. "No, my father is a little too fat, that's all. Perhaps we should get to know each other, Lady Aira."

* * *

><p><strong>SN (Story Notes)**

-Yavannië: the ninth month in the calendars of the Men of Middle-earth. It runs from about modern day 22 August to 20 September.

-Nárië: The sixth month of the year, running between 23 May and 21 June. As used here, it belongs to the calendar system used by Gondor.

-Egarel: One of the more prosperous towns of Arcúnalin. It lies on the north side of the Great West Road, opposite the Drúadan Forest.

-Sarrach: A small town on the border of Arcúnalin and the neighboring province Haranór (A province which encompasses the region around Amon Din and south to the Pelennor Fields).

-The "friendship declaration of 1350" mentioned by Imlach is a treaty made between Lossarnach (the Imangren family) and Arcúnalin (the Indûrion family) at the marriage of their family members in the year 1350.

**Character explanations**

-Mabyn is an Elder on the Council of Arcúnalin. Her illegitimate daughter is Melle, Aira's friend.

-Gircaun is also an Elder on the Council. He is the father of Lalaith. Lalaith was married to Kiril, the man who died protecting the Indûrion family. Lalaith and Kiril's children are Amlaith and Gweneth. Gweneth is married to Hallas, Aira's brother.

-Lieutenant Baran is not in the Guard of Arcúnalin. He serves in the Gondor military (which is commanded by Minas Tirith and the Steward of Gondor).

-Hallas is the eldest child of Iradan. However, he has effectively thrown away his position as a Captain, and denied himself any inheritance. He married Gweneth in Egarel, and currently lives there with her.

-Haefuir is the son of Forlong, the Lord of Lossarnach. Their house name/family name is "Imangren". Forlong is found in the the Lord of the Rings books.

**A/N (Author's Notes)**

If you read "The Black Crown" over and noticed new material, you are correct. I went back through the chapters and reorganized, edited and fleshed out previous material. The chapter numbers have been moved back by one. Chapters five and six are both new.


	7. Innocence

Chapter Seven: Innocence

"_Every life is a march from innocence,  
>through temptation, to virtue or vice."<br>-Lyman Abbott_

**9 Nárië**, **3008**

**Herindol, Haemuin, Arcúnalin**

A small itch tickled her scalp, drawing her hand in response. Aira pulled the beetle from her hair, dropping it carefully on a nearby leaf. She twisted in place, attempting to maintain her balance as she moved further across the tree branch. Gently she tugged at a cluster of fruitlets nestled at its end, and removed several of its smallest growths. She tossed them aside, and they hit the grass noiselessly below.

"You're becoming faster each year."

Elrîn appeared beneath the tree, and started to collect the fallen fruitlets on the ground. She sifted through the tendrils of grass, depositing her quarry into the basket at her elbow.

"I remember you used to climb the trees with us," said Aira, smiling down at her.

"I'm too old for it now."

Aira dropped another bundle of fruitlets onto the ground, and flexed her aching fingers. "It would've gone much faster with Imlach participating."

"He has more pressing matters than picking fruit," said Elrîn turning her ahead aside.

Amlaith waved from an adjacent tree, hollering in triumph. "My trees are done."

He leapt onto the tree trunk, his boots scuffing against the bark and searching for support. They slipped against the flaky surface, the force dragging his legs down. He lost his balance, hitting the ground with a thud. He lay in place, dazedly searching the trees above.

"Ow. I'm alright."

"Some things haven't changed," said Elrîn, stifling her laugh.

She put aside her basket and came to Amlaith's side, examining him closely. Her palm searched his head, sifting his hair for injuries or blood. A shallow scrape cupped the edge of his chin, but no other injuries emerged. Anxiously Aira clambered down the adjacent tree, trying to watch the process. Kneeling at her mother's side, she checked Amlaith's lower limbs.

"Everything is in order," said Elrîn, patting the boy's cheek. "Though nothing is likely fixed in this head of yours."

Amlaith gave a weak smile, and tilted his neck to look at Aira. She tapped his knee, causing his leg to jerk in response.

"Enough poking about down there," he said awkwardly. "It all works."

"Agreed."

Elrîn reached behind his shoulders, attempting to lift the boy off the ground. Aira shuffled to the woman's side, gently nudging her aside.

"Mother, let me," she said softly. Aira hauled her friend to his feet, steadying him against her shoulder. "Are you able to stand by yourself?"

He wobbled while trying to regain his balance. "I'm fine," he said too loudly, trying to convince himself.

"I certainly hope so!" roared Iradan, startling the trio.

The impatient lord appeared at the fringe of the grove, ducking tree branches as he strode towards them. His form moved with confidence, but the sway of his hips betrayed his limping leg. Chainmail clinked melodically over his form, and his sword was fastened at his hip. He bore heavy pieces of gear he reserved only for extensive military duty. He was supposed to have joined them earlier in the family orchard, but failed to appear in the morning. Aira straightened her posture, meeting his gaze with every ounce of mustered seriousness. She managed to remain composed under the hawkish examination.

"Iradan, we had thought to meet you earlier," said Elrîn, kissing his cheek.

"Sorry my dear, I will help at harvest time," said Iradan, grasping her hand. He turned to the boy, studying his disheveled clothing. "Amlaith, I trust you will return to drills, injuries or not."

Amlaith nodded, eager to distract from his fall. "We shall have the best fruit in Gondor at the Yáviérë harvest, and eat it all ourselves."

"Most of this will go into the food stocks of Arcúnalin," interjected Elrîn.

"Correct, our family cannot hog resources" said Iradan. "But our new infantry lieutenant shall still have his fruit pies this autumn."

"Lieutenant?" whispered Amlaith. "Me?"

"Yes. Don't look so dumbfounded. You'll be posted tomorrow to Tunlonn," said Iradan, lightly smacking the boy's shoulder.

Amlaith lit up, his mouth still hanging open in surprise as he profusely thanked his guardian. Aira struggled for words, trying to make sense of the gracious gesture. Grimness was etched in Iradan's face, no matter how much he smiled.

"I thought Amlaith's next post was to be in Daerost," said Aira.

Iradan turned his head, gazing at her inquisitively. "There is an opening in Tunlonn, he will be posted there. The next opening in Daerost is reserved for Aira."

"Father? I thought such notions folly."

Something passed across his face, unrevealed in meaning. He shook his head. "The world is changing quickly, and things we cannot see are at our threshold. Despite my guardianship to Amlaith, I cannot place him in such strategic positions yet."

His grip tightened on the pommel of his sword in reaction, instinctively clutching it as he did when something disturbed him. Against her instinct, hope tried to rise in Aira's chest. She mentally grasped at it with all of her will, trying to keep it from transforming into further thoughts. Despite the good feedback Iradan had provided over her training in the past year, she doubted. Their tense discussion in the antechamber last year still bothered her. He had been forceful in requiring marriage of her, and she did not let herself think that plot gone. Her father could easily take away anything he gave. His title granted him such powers. Despite how much free will she tried to believe she possessed, he hadn't seemed willing to provide her more of it either in her pursuit of military advancement. Aira gathered traces of a smile, trying to keep her doubt invisible.

"I shall work even harder to deserve such position."

"When the time comes, I know you shall be ready."

For a brief moment his eyes softened, showing the serious fatherly intent behind his cold face. In that moment, Aira let herself believe he meant it more than as a plot. It vanished in an instant, replaced by wondering why Arcúnalin would need to be strengthened strategically in its military positions, and the increased interference of its Ambatár. Would there one day be a need to take up massive scale of arms within Gondor?

As if responding to her thoughts, Iradan motioned to Amlaith. "I must take you away now anyway. There's a disturbance in the town square."

A look passed between Iradan and Elrîn, wordless understanding. Amlaith lowered his head in obedience, leaving the women behind in the orchard. Aira turned to her mother, who froze in place watching the men stride off. The moving shadows of the fruit trees fell like dark waves across her figure, and in the shade she stood stooped and lost. Elrîn hesitated, contemplating the abandoned basket nearby.

"I think this will be our last harvest together."

**10 Cermië **

The house radiated its beauty under the early afternoon sun, its walls bright and solid. It watched over the length of land at its front, covered with flora. An enormous tree stood watch in the center, its silvery bark aglitter beneath a veil of fluttering leaves. Aira inched further into its protective shade, and propped herself against its trunk. She reopened the volume in her lap, but did not read further.

Her gaze fixed on the front gate of the estate, where a figure struggled up the pathway with a large basket. Sighing, she slipped her book beneath an elbow and loped to the newcomer's side. The sturdy little woman slowed her walk and looked expectantly at Aira.

"I doubt you were out here waiting to help me, but I'd appreciate it if you brought this into the house."

Aira dropped her book into the basket, and took it from her caretaker. "Actually Nîthrin, I was waiting for Amlaith. He was supposed to be here this morning."

"I never approved of your activities with boys, even if your mother ignores it." The woman bowed her head, and walked faster. "It's no use waiting, he's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean gone?"

They stopped at the threshold of the house, turning to each other. Nîthrin pointed northwest, towards the fringes of the orchard.

"He was sent immediately to Tunlonn, to start as lieutenant. Your father commanded it."

"And where is my father?"

"In the keep, questioning prisoners. You won't be getting any answers out of him; he's been down there since the riot." Nîthrin studied her confused expression. "I thought you would know these things."

Aira shifted the basket to her other arm, and shook her head. "No. I've been with my mother in the orchard for several days. What riot are you talking about?"

"The Guard arrested a Southron preacher in the center of town. He was a lunatic, calling for the repentance of Arcúnalin or it would be doomed. He killed several people when they tried to take him for questioning."

"Valar," whispered Aira.

"Seeing as you were ignorant of the fact, I probably shouldn't be telling you," said Nîthrin, huffing. She seized the basket from Aira and swung the door open. "Excuse me, my lady. I must continue my housework."

Dismayed, she watched her handmaid totter away into the depths of the house. She shut the door in annoyance, and turned towards the pathway, banging into another person. An arm grabbed hers before she could fall.

"Pardon me, Lady Aira."

Haefuir steadied her in place, then let go. Dark eyes met hers, apologetic and searching.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Could be better."

"Things are not going as planned?" he asked hesitatingly.

She sighed and loosened her stance, shaking her head. "May I help you with something?"

"I'm here to meet with Lord Iradan," he replied. "He left an open invitation."

"I'm afraid that won't happen today," said Aira. "He's preoccupied with serious matters, and likely won't return for some time."

"I was hoping to see your town's archive. It is well known in Gondor for its wealth of material."

"My father holds the only keys to it. I'm sorry, my lord."

"That is alright. Please call me Haefuir instead, it is much more natural." His expression flickered, but shifted into a smile. "Perhaps since both our plans are interrupted, we should devise one together."

Aira studied his broad frame and rich clothing. He had plenty of muscles, but his pale skin seemed to indicate him spending time more indoors. She hesitated, unable to read his face fully. She had only spoken to Haefuir in passing since his arrival the last month, but he seemed noble. He approached women with softness, as if expecting them to break under the slightest stress. She had needed to spend time with Amlaith, to find some free uninhibited enjoyment before she returned to the Guard from her break. This man posed little threat to her.

"Do you know how to swim?"

"Not very well. Are you suggesting we—do that?"

"Didn't you know it's common for people to swim naked together here?" she teased.

"Really?"

His composure cracked for a moment, surprise registering on his face. For a moment he seemed much closer in age, almost boyish as he shoved his hands into his pockets sheepishly. Immediately Aira put away the notion, realizing she could not take such liberties without him mistaking it for something else. Much as she despised it, growing older had started wedging complications into her friendships with men, including other soldiers. His eyes opened wide, causing her to sigh. She forced herself to laugh, and smiled innocently.

"Of course not."

Haefuir's shoulders dropped noticeably, and locked into his impartible gaze once more, fixed on her. She cleared her throat and motioned to the house.

"My family has a personal library in the house. Perhaps you'd settle for a few of those books instead?"

"Certainly."

Wide paneled shelves lined the walls, every inch crammed full with books. The ceiling vaulted long and wide above the chamber, covered with extensive painted scenes and lined with curling stonework. Haefuir stopped in his tracks between a set of massive pillars, gaping at the decorations in the hall. Aira smiled to herself, and urged him fully into the chamber.

"I honestly did not expect anything like this," he murmured. "I only heard rumors."

Aira directed him to one of the sturdy chairs at the center of the chamber, and wandered to nearby shelves. She visually searched amongst the volumes, feeling Haefuir's fixed gaze on her backside.

"Lady Elaewen contributed money and books to this estate after marrying King Rómendacil II. She wanted to make it fit for a queen," said Aira, trying to draw his attention elsewhere. "She was inspired by the King's House in Minas Tirith."

"That explains its similarity to the Great Library, though this is tiny."

She turned in his direction, wide-eyed. "You have been inside it? I thought few were allowed inside."

"My father is close friends with Denethor," he replied, reclining in the chair. "Lord Denethor is not so restrictive."

"I met him once, and he seemed hostile. I believe he holds something against my father."

Haefuir waved his hand dismissively. "Probably because your family is one of few who dares question the Steward or say things to his face."

"I don't know if that makes us stubborn or stupid."

"You are just as strong headed and opinionated, and more dangerous running around with that sword," he said, restraining a laugh. "The Steward should make sure never to trouble you."

"Am I so bad?" said Aira, looking away.

Haefuir rose to his feet, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "No. Such simplicity is admirable. Too many women need fine things and games of intrigue to live happily."

"You make me sound too innocent," she said, clearing her throat. "Do you believe all women are manipulative?"

"Of course not," he said, sighing. "My twin sister Mîlfaen is straightforward in that regard. Unlike you however, she prefers sewing and singing to swords. Both of you embrace what you enjoy."

"You sound like my friend Amlaith. He is very supportive of other people's desires," replied Aira, finally looking at him. "He says if you want something, to go after it."

"There is always a line," said Haefuir abruptly. His expression remained unfathomable, but his attention remained utterly fixed on her. "I desired to swim with you this afternoon, but ultimately would've stopped myself."

"I doubt it," said Aira slowly. "I keep encountering you in the absence of my family. Are you searching for reasons to remain in my presence?"

She tightened her lips expectantly, searching his face for a response. Silence filled the space between them, each gauging the other. Haefuir's expression shifted imperceptibly, but his eyes softened.

"Yes," he murmured. "Out of respect, I would never do anything more."

Aira frowned at him, her voice raising slightly higher. "Haefuir, you cannot believe everyone should fulfill their will, and then restrict yourself. It's self-punishment."

"I have my reasons," he replied quickly.

"If you withholding emotions, then you're not being honest with yourself, and therefore cannot be truly honest with me."

"I swear it is nothing more," said Haefuir.

Aira exhaled in relief and dropped her suspicious thoughts. "I believe you. I'd very much like to be your friend."

They smiled politely, the closeness of their positions suddenly awkward. Aira turned to the bookshelves again, grasping the chance for a distraction.

"Shall we find a book?"

.-.-.-.

**Yáviérë  
>Daerost, Arcúnalin, Anórien<strong>

"I don't know how they can feast so much."

Aira leaned further on the balcony, the shouts of her fellow soldiers ringing in her ears. Rangers, infantry and guardsmen milled about the town square below, wandering amidst barrels of alcohol, wagons of food, and the local population of Daerost. The celebration remained in full swing, despite preparations for the evening feast. Voices stayed raised in merry tones and the occasional strain of music broke out amongst the rooftops.

"I expect you'll be down there tonight, instead of hiding inside", said Vîramar.

Her old mentor glanced at her and observed the milling crowds below. She slouched against the railing, watching the people with nervous anticipation.

"I don't know," she murmured.

"You have more reason than most to celebrate," he said, motioning to the copper pin attached to her garments.

She touched the pin in reaction, stroking the newly struck metal with her fingers. It remained cool to the touch, and glinted in the golden light of sunset.

"Lieutenant or not, I'm not very good in crowds," she said, sighing.

Vîramar patted her shoulder, and pointed out soldiers in the crowd below. "There are hundreds of your comrades down there, and the city folk care deeply for your family. No weapons are allowed within the inner ring of the fortress during feasting times. There is no danger here."

The memory of Kiril's empty eyes flashed across her mind, and Aira shuddered. Vîramar straightened and wandered towards the nearby archway. Strains of female voices wafted through the entry, singing old songs.

"I am sure Lady Reine will not kick you out, she enjoys your company," he said. "Though she would like you to have fun as well."

Aira examined the solid stone walls around them peaking into the sky above. "If she does not mind, or her husband."

"Madril will not return for some time. He is away with the Rangers in Ithilien. I keep an eye on his family when he is away." Vîramar motioned towards the archway. "Come Aira. Must I command you as a superior officer to socialize and celebrate your promotion?"

"Yes."

He pulled her by the elbow through the archway, and through the adjacent hall and stairways. He stopped before the main entrance to the house, and propped the front door open with his foot. He loosed her arm and pointed to the street way outside. Aira exhaled in exasperation, stepping aside to gain personal space.

"We are leaving this house right now, and attending the main feast," said Vîramar firmly.

An adjacent door opened, and a female head emerged. The young woman smiled widely and jaunted into the room, flourishing the hem of her dress. Sprigs of early autumn flowers were twined with red ribbons through her dark hair, which flowed across her back.

"I'll be accompanying you, milady," she said cheerily.

Vîramar raised an eyebrow at her, and cleared his throat. "Did Lady Reine give you permission?"

The woman exhaled loudly and placed her hands on her hips in frustration. "Yes, Captain. Even if she said no, I'm too old for my mother to boss me around."

She paused, examining Aira's plain boots, coiled braids and simple grey dress. Her only adornments were a necklace and the lieutenant pin fastened to her belt pouch.

"Are you going to the feast? Because I have some fancier clothes if you'd like—"

"Fêriel," interrupted Vîramar warningly.

"You may join us," said Aira, politely ignoring the remark. "We're glad of your company."

Attempting to hide her earlier anxiety, Aira straightened her shoulders and led them from the house into the streets below. Vîramar kept within two steps of her, his presence lending her confidence on their journey through Daerost. Fêriel fluttered on the side, eyeing random merchant stalls and strutting before groups of men. It drew more attention to Aira than she liked, causing many people to bow at spotting her and Vîramar. Crowds swelled the narrow roads through town, leaving little space to traverse.

At sunset they reached the central point of Daerost, and its citadel crowning the tallest hill point. Its watchtowers rose in spikes along the walls and defensive weapons dotted the spaces between. Its courtyards swarmed with people too, but the atmosphere was calmer. Despite the crowd, the familiar fortified walls were reassuring to Aira, and she felt herself inexplicably relax. Fêriel stuck closer to their side, wide-eyed as they walked to the center building.

The crowd was composed mainly of soldiers and young adults, who sought to fraternize with the militia during certain holidays. Children were not permitted within the walls of the hill fort. Regalia of all colors and shapes adorned the soldiers, from the brown goose of Núnhel to the white ship of Cair Andros. Soldiers stepped aside at spotting their Captain, leaving their path clear. The main hall sprawled wide before them, and filled their ears with steady music as they entered.

The guard at the door recognized them, and shouted an announcement to the hall. Aira tried to gather her bearing and maintain a falsely confident smile, as dozens of faces turned in her direction. Vîramar pushed Fêriel to the side and walked respectfully two steps behind. Broad stone pillars graces either side of the chamber, throwing shadows against the bright sunlight spilling from long windows above. Heavily armored men stood between each set of pillars, their breastplates bearing the tree of Gondor. Alarmed, Aira visually swept the room and spotted their leader seated at the high table at the far end of the hall. Lord Boromir sat in the center, at the seat normally reserved for Lord Iradan. At hearing her name, the man next to him turned his head and stared emotionlessly back at her. Commander Heregdar kept his gaze neutral, though his muddy eyes were cold as steel.

Vîramar strode closer to her, whispering low near her shoulder. "I knew the soldiers of Cair Andros would come and maybe Rangers, but never guessed the Captain-General. Keep on your toes, my lady."

Aira tilted her head in his direction questioningly, surprised by the formal address. "Captain, what is it?"

"By their drinking behavior, the Minas Tirith soldiers have been here an extended period, while Commander Heregdar entertains the Steward's son."

Slowing her stroll towards the main table, she paused to motion for a drink from a passing servant. She faked displeasure at the taste, and instructed them to fetch another. Her mentor's tone made her wary of hurrying off before he finished.

"We should've been notified," she murmured. "Someone thought not to."

"Yes," said Vîramar, coming close to her shoulder. "You have ably maintained the balance between your personal and professional positions, but this requires intervention."

"Captain?"

"You need to dismiss the Commander from dinner and from duties within the city," he replied, almost inaudible.

"I will, but I don't understand—"

"Milady," said the servant, interrupting. The nervous young man bowed and raised an offering to her, in a goblet finer than the last.

She accepted the offering and pivoted away from Vîramar, turning her attention to her destination. Her mentor stopped at the corner of the raised dais. Only a few people turned to her at the main table as she approached. The Captain-General sat tall in the center position, occupying his chair with indisputable authority. He seemed more imposing than the previous time she'd seen him in Minas Tirith, his frame more filled out and clothing more soldierly. She approached his side and lowered herself in respect, drawing his attention.

"Good evening, Lord Boromir."

Aira tried to steady her resolve, keeping herself together under the examining gaze of his staid grey eyes. His proud features were withdrawn and slightly flushed with drink, but softened when she smiled at him.

"Greetings, my lady."

"I hope you are feasting well this Yáviérë."

"Indeed, I find it better fare than pillaged cattle."

In spite of her nerves, she laughed in response. "Should I be wary of your long memory?" she asked.

"Only if you persist in comparing me to livestock," he said, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.

"No, fear of that," she replied, trying to keep from smiling. "May I sit beside you, my lord?"

He paused for a moment, his fingers tapping the edge of his seat. "I am sitting in your place, Lady Aira."

"You must remain in place, as my guest," said Aira.

She stepped to his right side, and turned towards the next seating place. Commander Heregdar continued to stare at her coldly, his gaze unreadable. She motioned for him to rise in place, earning a glare before the officer complied. Her heart thudded louder as he moved aside, allowing her to claim the chair.

"Thank you Commander," she said dismissively. "I recommend you return home and celebrate with your family."

The officer tensed and lowered his head in respect. "Yes—my lady."

As he trudged away fuming, she became aware of people in the crowd below watching the scene closely. The majority were Arcúnalin soldiers, who were familiar with the infamous Heregdar's temper and intolerance. She was not sure what could happen as a result of this, but she knew better than to focus on it at the moment. She glanced to the end of the dais, where Vîramar stood watching. He nodded imperceptibly, providing his approval. Aira sipped out of her goblet and turned in place towards Boromir.

"Are you enjoying your visit?"

"Now I am," he replied. "This past week I have been carrying out inspections at the fortifications on Cair Andros. Sweaty men and rain has been replaced by women and music. Quite an improvement."

Boromir motioned for more wine and moved his gaze upon her. Aira shifted uncomfortably, her composure quickly waning under his study. She tried to decipher the intensity of his look, but he remained detached and unreadable. She found men more confusing, and difficult to read than ever before. She was increasingly aware of the noise in the crowded room and the people surrounding her on all sides. She reached for her goblet, seeking to lose herself in the wine.

"You carry an empty sword belt and soldier's badge," he murmured.

Aira lowered the goblet and dared look at him again. His eyes glinted back at her, gauging her reactions.

"Not many people notice," she replied. "Not everyone agrees with it."

He shrugged and settled back into his chair. "I see nothing wrong with female soldiers. Though you are the first one I've seen dismiss their superior officer."

"It was necessary, and he is subordinate in every other way," she said, lifting her chin defiantly.

"You needn't defend yourself to me," said Boromir.

"Those in my position must be clear Lord Boromir. I do not wish to repeat the consequences of our last meeting."

"I recall nothing of negative significance," he said. "Your province has been nothing but hospitable. I will repay the favor."

Taken by surprise, she lowered her goblet and lowered her head respectfully. "That is most generous of you."

He stared at frustration at some of the servants weaving frantically throughout the room, attempting to get their attention.

"If you manage to have them fetch more wine, I will make it two favors."

Laughing, she waved to the nervous servants and settled back in her chair confidently.

.-.-.-.

Stacks of platters sat atop nearby tables, and benches lined the walls, evidence of the night's full gathering. The blue of early dawn glazed the windows in the hall, providing dim light. Aira tightened the ties of her robe, feeling the coldness of the floor seep into her slippers. She sorted through baskets of food remaining on the tables, removing several pieces of fruit. A soft thud emanated from an adjacent corridor, causing her to whip around. A lone figure froze in the entrance of the hall, staring back at Aira in surprise.

"Good morning," said Aira softly.

Fêriel cautiously entered the hall, searching the emptiness for other people. The blue light highlighted her disheveled dress and frizzy hair without its decorations.

"Are you the only one awake?" asked Fêriel.

"Yes. You've successfully snuck back inside," said Aira, biting into an apple.

The woman sat down across the table, eyeing the baskets of fruit. "I would appreciate if you forget about it."

"You're missing your ribbons," said Aira, pointing to her hair. "Too much dancing last night?"

"If you call it _dancing_. Did you _dance _all night as well?"

Aira rolled her eyes. "No, I had other things to do."

"Such as trying to seduce the Steward's son? I saw you at the feast with him until I left." said Fêriel. "Seeing as you're here now, it doesn't seem to have worked."

"I had no other intentions than those of a diplomatic concern. Hold your tongue."

Fêriel shrugged and pulled at a pile of grapes on the table. "I could've helped."

"I am not in the position to be taking liberties with anyone," said Aira.

She gritted her teeth at the forthrightness of the woman's remarks, though she'd similar experiences before.

"I just expected a noblewoman can open her legs and have anyone she wants," said Fêriel. "It takes a woman like me a lot of work to get so far."

"It doesn't work like that," said Aira. "I have to keep a certain standard."

"Virtue does not last forever," said Fêriel, studying her face closely. "Everyone gives into vice sooner or later. The heart grows lonely."

Aira lowered her apple and sighed. "If you're worried about me telling Captain Vîramar, it's none of my business."

Fêriel bowed her head, not looking at Aira. "Thank you."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Sorry for the wait. My mother recently died, and it took a lot of time before I could write again. I am dedicating this story to her.


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